#micdropnet

[colormepurplex2]

Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop | MYG

▻ Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop ↳ ArtProfessor!Yoongi x Artist/CoffeeShopOwner!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Cozy Romance ⤜ Coffee Shop/Art AU | fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 8,028 ⤜ Summary: It’s like clockwork; you receive the same online order every weekday morning at eight o’clock: large decaf iced Americano, picked up promptly shortly after. His face has become familiar, as a part of your routine as the hiss of the espresso machine. Until, one day, that routine takes an unexpected turn, and you find yourself getting familiar with more than just his face. ⚠️ Very mild language, panic over student/teacher potential date (reader is a student, but she's the same age as Yoongi, just taking classes later in life than most), oral m receiving, fingering, kissing, mild dirty talk, cum swallowing, confessions of the heart

A/N: This is part of my 'Heartbeat Melodies' mini-series, where I write fics that are inspired by songs. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired this, you can find it here! A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi & @moonleeai for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

“Large decaf iced Americano,” you call out, barely glancing up from behind the counter.

A deep, familiar drawl pulls your attention, “That would be mine.” It’s only familiar for the fact you’ve heard that voice nearly every day for the last six months.

Your eyes snap up from the tablet, where the next online order has come through, to meet warm brown ones. “I should have known,” you reply before you can think better to bite your tongue. Heat suffuses your cheeks. You pull your lips between your teeth to stifle the groan of embarrassment that begs to be released.

The man chuckles, absently using a knuckle to push up the hornrimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I should be offended or honored by that comment. But, I guess I do come here a lot.”

Nearly every day for the last six months, at least. That’s how often he comes here—to your coffee shop. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a handful of small tables and chairs. But it’s yours, and you’re proud of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem…” you trail off. Not sure how to finish that thought because you’re not entirely sure how you meant it or why you said it other than the fact you’re a bit frazzled this morning and apparently forgot your mouth filter at home. It was a late night last night for you. It's not an excuse, but still.

He waves a large hand in the air, dismissing your apology. “Please, it’s quite alright. I’ll take it as flattery; could use a little boost to my confidence anyhow.”

That almost makes you sputter in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way this man needs any flattery. Surely, he comes by it in droves. Because, well, he’s honestly so gorgeous it should be criminal.

His hair is fluffy, somewhere between charcoal grey and black, though the warm lighting of your cafe gives it a golden honey halo effect. The eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses are dark swirls of espresso that match his coffee order—a straight nose sitting above soft, pink lips that have a light glossy sheen to them.

As usual, he’s wearing a pressed slack and jacket combo, a cream-colored collared shirt underneath with a bold print tie. His choice of ties is what drew you to him in the first place, and made you pay a little closer attention to the mysterious man behind the large decaf iced Americano.

You clear your throat, daring to be bold, while it seems you’ve no filter to stop you. “Well, if you ever need further flattery, you know where to find me.” It’s clear that you give him an assessing once over, his eyes locked onto yours as you do so.

“Do you paint?”

The question throws you off, nearly making you drop the tablet in your hands. Your fingers flex against the case, your thumb brushing along the glass screen. Busying yourself with reviewing the next order on the screen, you turn, giving him your back as you decide how to answer his random question. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him; this man that you feel like you know yet is a complete stranger.

“Why do you ask?” you deflect as you go through the motions of scooping grinds and swapping out the portafilter for a freshly filled one. However, you know it’s not always polite to answer a question with a question; you’re just not sure how to decipher his curiosity or where it came from to begin with.

The bell above the door rings, and you wince as the espresso machine gurgles and hisses loudly as you mechanically pop a cup in the machine and hit the brew button. The noise fills the quiet space of the coffee shop. It’s not until the cup is filled, you’ve added two lumps of sugar, and you’re grabbing a lid that the man responds.

“There’s paint under your fingernails. Or, at least, what I would guess is paint.”

Glancing down at the cup in your hand, you take in the colorful myriad of flecks coating your skin. The colors fill the grooves of your knuckles and hug around the bed of your nails.

“Double espresso with two sugars,” you announce, ripping your gaze from your hand to the interior space of your cafe. A woman steps around the man, giving you a hurried smile as she holds out her hand to receive the cup. You hand it off. “Have a good day.”

Giving the cafe's inside a quick glance, you ensure all the customers within are taken care of. A college student is busy pounding away at their laptop keyboard in the corner, utilizing your free wifi. A half-empty cup of hot cocoa sits cold and abandoned beside them. A trio of friends sit at your only table big enough to seat more than two people, laughing softly and sipping hot lattes and teas. No one seems to need your attention; except the man still standing there, large decaf iced Americano in hand.

You lick your lips, a nervous habit you picked up after endless stressful nights pouring your heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into opening the small cafe. Most believed it would flop; others rallied to your side and helped your dream come true.

“Look, sorry if I’ve overstepped somehow,” he begins, but you shake your head, letting him know he’s not.

Gesturing at the wall behind the man, you finally answer, “In my spare time.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes zigzagging across the giant unfinished mural covering the windowless back wall of the cafe.

“That?” he asks. “You’re painting that?”

It’s hard to decipher if that’s disbelief or awe coloring his voice.

“I am,” you answer a bit hesitantly.

“Wow!” he exclaims, a giant grin spreading across his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been meaning to ask after the artist every time I come in and see something new added, I just uh,” he brings his free hand up and rubs it across the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor under his feet, “well, could never bring myself to.” It’s pretty, the way his cheeks take on a flush of color as his eyes cut to you from over the frame of his glasses. “It’s wonderful work.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help your own flush of shyness at his praise.

“So, uh,” he lifts his cup and gives it a swirl, the ice sloshing around inside, before taking a small sip through the straw, “I know you probably see it on the order, but for the sake of propriety, my name’s Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi, to be more precise, you know. It’s a name you’ve read so many times it’s ingrained in your mind. However, it’s still nice for him to offer it to you. Willingly establishing your connection one step further than his coffee order.

You feel so silly tapping the name tag on the front of your apron, but you do it before you can think better of it, mumbling your name as if he can’t read it for himself after you brought direct attention to it. “Sorry, I’m not normally so weird,” you give a shaky laugh, willing yourself to shut up before you chase him off from how awkward you’re being.

Something changes in his demeanor, his eyes taking on a light twinkle that sits somewhere between mischief and wonder. “I like weird,” he offers casually as if that doesn’t make your stomach swoop and your heart beat a little harder. “Maybe we can talk more about your art sometime. Maybe over dinner? Or lunch if dinner is too forward.”

If you were a cartoon, you’re confident your tongue would actually be tied into a jumbled knot right now with you frantically trying to talk around it, a comical scene for sure. Yet, there is no knot, just a thick feeling that you have to swallow past. “Um, yeah, sure. That would be great. Dinner…or uh, lunch. Both. Either one. Though, dinner might be better considering my hours.”

Yoongi glances at the vinyl hours printed on the front window by the door. They’re backward from his vantage point, but you assume he has no issue reading them, considering he turns back to you and asks, “How does seven work for you?”

“Tonight?” The beating of your heart lurches again, and you can barely hear him over the rushing in your ears.

“Yeah, if that’s not too soon. Perhaps next week, if that’s better? I don’t want to come on too strong. Or well, rather, what I mean to say is, don’t feel pressured.” You can tell he’s feeling hesitant now, trying to backtrack and offer you a way to politely decline his offer for dinner tonight. You didn’t mean to come off sounding so put out. You just weren’t expecting his request to be for tonight.

Mentally, you dig through your schedule. You’re not closing today. Marvin comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush, and then you leave at four to make it to your five o’clock class. It would be today of all days that your new art class starts. It’s the beginning of the fall semester at the local university, and you just so happened to decide to take a few art classes they were offering, the first of which starts tonight.

The class should only be around an hour long, with plenty of time to get home and change before the date. Is it a date? Or just strangers getting together to talk about art? Isn’t that what a date is anyway, though?

“Seven. Tonight. That would be great.”

“Okay, perfect. Can I pick you up? Or we can meet here if that works better.”

It’s endearing he’d offer, both picking you up and meeting in a familiar place. Considering you live above the coffee shop, though, it makes no difference. Though, he doesn’t necessarily know that.

“Here is fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you tried that steak house on the corner yet?”

“The new one that opened last week?” He nods. “I haven’t, no.”

“Perfect.” Yoongi smiles. “Here, at seven. Consider it a date.” His smile falters, and his brows pinch, forming a line between them. “Not that I…well, it’s not that…it doesn’t have to be…if you don’t want this to be a date, that’s—”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, giving him what you hope to be a warm smile to ease his mild panic. “I’ll see you then, Yoongi.”

“See you then,” he responds, tacking your name on at the end in his deep drawl. The way it sounds coming from his mouth should be added to one of those spicy erotica audiobooks you may or may not have downloaded on your phone.

Just as Yoongi is leaving, it’s like the world finally takes a breath, and the exhalation that follows brings with it a rush of early morning commuters seeking their morning fix. The everyday bustle and hubbub of the day filter back in, and you’re soon lost to the sway of the shop, coffee, tea, and cocoa. It all comes alive beneath your nimble fingers, much reminiscent of the way holding a brush makes you feel: a thrill of the soul with each pour.

☕☕☕

Yoongi

In all Yoongi’s years of teaching, he’s never been late to a class, especially on the first day of the semester. Yet, he’s nearly fifteen minutes late getting into his classroom this morning. Students are already filled in and scattered around the theatre-style seating. No one says anything. It’s far too early in the morning for smart mouths and snarky remarks about his tardiness. Not that he would expect that from any of the students anyway.

“Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min.” He drops his bag and coffee off on his podium at the front of the classroom. Turning to the large chalkboard behind it, he scrawls his name to the side and then begins to write directions. “We will begin with Chapter 1, ‘Mediums and Forms’, in your textbook. Please read quietly, and I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

The day goes on, class after class, and the familiar monotony of it brings Yoongi a sense of peace. This is familiar territory; he’s in his element, not like this morning in the coffee shop. He felt totally out of control and swept up in the swirl of uncertainties and possibilities.

To say he’s relieved you agreed to go to dinner with him would be an understatement. From the moment he decided to change up his routine to check out the cafe Namjoon wouldn’t shut up about, he’s been hooked not only on the impeccable decaf iced Americano, nor the beautifully decorated and painted interior but on the smiling face behind the counter.

Yoongi feels a bit self-conscious thinking about how much he thinks about you. He’s always been too intimidated by the idea of speaking more than a few passing words to you. It’s like every time he gathered up the courage, it would abandon him at the last moment. Namjoon calls it a crush, Yoongi calls it frustrating.

The whole conversation this morning is a bit of a blur to him. Yoongi swears once he opened his mouth it was nearly impossible to stop the word vomit from gushing out…and the next thing he knew, you were agreeing to a date with him tonight.

The day's last class rolls around, and Yoongi feels much lighter as he steps out of his adjoining office and into the classroom to welcome the new students. A few offer him quiet hello’s, some he’s seen from other art classes he’s monitored across the entire department and fine arts program. 

Turning his back as the last few students filter in, he makes the same spiel he has at the beginning of every class. “Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min…”

And so it begins, the beautiful dance of teaching and introducing fresh minds to the concept of forms and mediums. Yoongi is sure he could recite the entirety of Chapter 1 from memory now, with as many times as he’s gone over it today.

“What if you decide you don’t like your form or medium halfway through the project?” a student from the front row asks after Yoongi explains the medium and forms requisite for the final project for this class.

“We’re going to spend plenty of time during the first part of the semester testing out different mediums to know which best suits each of your individual tastes and needs. Regarding the form, I recommend choosing something you most likely won’t tire of. Something that means something to you but also isn’t so complex that you frustrate yourself and burn out before you can complete the project. You’re welcome to, at any time, bring me an idea of the form you’re considering, and we can talk about the intricacies and any potential issues that might arise with using it.”

Another question comes from somewhere in the middle, “Can we choose people, too?”

“A form can be anything that inspires you. If that happens to be a person, then of course. However, note that portraiture isn’t covered until Art 322, but I’ll do my best to help if that’s what you choose.” Yoongi glances at the clock, noticing there are only a few minutes left of class. “Let’s take the last few minutes to wind down, pack your things. If you have any further questions concerning your final project forms and mediums, please don’t hesitate to email me. Also, my office hours are open Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to six.”

As Yoongi turns to begin putting his things away from his podium, his eyes slide across the faces of his last class students, trying to cram them into his mind for the sake of remembering. He always likes to be as personable and approachable to his students as possible; knowing names and faces is always a good place to start.

He has to do a double take as his eyes flick over the very top row. The shock is felt throughout his entire body. It’s not that he’s surprised to see a face he already knows. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it…wasn’t expecting to see you. Mild panic makes him jerk around, hands gripping at the papers on his podium, shuffling them mechanically.

The first thought that crosses his mind is he can’t possibly be going on a date with one of his students. Surely you’re just here to…to what? He turns over one of the papers, quickly scanning his roster that he hadn’t bothered to check yet. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to snag on your name.

Unease settles across his shoulders. He hates to cancel the date, as he was really looking forward to it, but it’s just…not right, right? There’s a line he shouldn’t cross with his students, even one who he is sure is his age and not the typical college freshman. Yoongi knows this because maybe, perhaps, he might have spent his lunch hour googling you and the cafe. You’re in your early thirties, given the birth year that was viewable on one of your social media pages, and own the coffee shop, have for several years now…a full-ass grown adult—the perfect person to date.

Except now you’re his student. There’s some moral code there somewhere, something about the skewed power dynamic. The thought of going on this date should have red flags flashing in his mind. Yet…yet, no matter how much he tells himself to cancel, he honestly doesn’t want to. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? A harmless date.

That’s what he’s still telling himself as he dismisses the class a few minutes later. He intentionally avoided looking in your direction, unsure if you’d be comfortable with him acknowledging you as one of his students or not.

Much to his surprise, as the bubble of sound dissipates, a soft voice reaches his ears from a few feet behind him, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Yoongi has been so consumed with his own feelings about going on a date with a student that he hasn’t even thought about how you might feel. Are you about to cancel on him? Does he try to convince you not to?

He slowly turns, the stack of papers clutched in his hands, glasses slipping down his nose, yet he doesn’t want to pry his fingers from the bundle to fix them. “Look, I understand if you’d rather not—”

“I’m fine as long as you are.”

He’s relieved for your interruption, for keeping him from saying those words out loud. “Are you sure? If I had known this morning that you’d be one of my students…” he trails off, because he’s not so sure that would have stopped him after all. Considering he’s wanted to ask you out for at least the last four months.

“I’m glad you asked me. Student or not. I promise not to make it weird if you don’t.” You give him a brilliant smile, coy and full of mirth but light enough to make his heart jerk inside his chest.

“No weirdness, got it,” he agrees, unable to help his own teasing smile.

“So, I’ll see you then?” you ask, hefting your canvas bag on your shoulder. His eyes flick to it, noting the splashes and swirls of fabric paint that cover the outside. Yoongi wonders if you painted it yourself.

He nods, letting his eyes drink you in one last time before you turn to go. You’re still wearing the same jeans and thin cable knit sweater from the coffee shop this morning. Even in such casual clothes, you are stunning. A work of art all your own. He doesn’t stop staring until the door to his classroom shuts behind you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. It’s not out of irritation or anger, just an acknowledgement of how truly and utterly he’s got it down bad for you.

☕☕☕

Seven can’t come soon enough. It only took you thirty minutes to get ready, putting on a simple black dress and flats. It’s not too fancy, but it makes you feel far more put together than just jeans and a t-shirt.

At five til, you make your way down into the coffee shop from your upstairs apartment. All of the main overhead lights are off, leaving only the warm accent lights that line the menu board and the display case lights on. Even now, the space smells delightedly of coffee.

It’s kind of funny, the fact that you’re not a coffee drinker. Everyone finds it odd that someone who doesn’t drink coffee would aspire to open a coffee shop. What they fail to realize is you love the smell of coffee. The warm, roasted, mildly sweet notes are what you thrive on, better than any shot of espresso in your mind.

There is a street lamp right outside your shop, flooding the sidewalk with a pool of yellow light. Standing just within the glow is Yoongi, his back to the shop door. You watch as his head swivels, looking down both directions of the sidewalk, completely unaware that you’ll be coming from behind him instead.

The sound of the lock turning over startles him. He jerks around and laughs softly, taking a step back, hand to his chest, as you pull the door open. “Can’t say I expected you to come from inside the cafe.”

“I would have been down sooner had I known you would be a bit early,” you say, locking the door behind you. “I probably should have given you my number or something.”

Yoongi eyes you, his gaze sliding up and down your body like he’s drinking you in. You hope he likes what he sees. “I think I was so excited about the date that I forgot even to ask,” he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when his eyes finally land back on yours. “You look,” —he gives you another quick once over, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip— “gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you preen under his praise. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

You’re not just saying that to return the compliment, either. Yoongi is wearing the same thing he was this morning, except the tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt is undone, giving you the slightest peek at his prominent jugular notch.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm.

You slip your hand into the bend of his elbow, falling into step beside him. The walk to the steak house is short, just enough for pleasant exchanges. He asks how your day at the coffee shop went, and you ask after his first day of classes. Neither of you bring up the fact that you were part of one of those classes.

“I’ve been meaning to check this place out. I’ve heard excellent things.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head at your words. “I’ve also heard good things, though it might perhaps be biased considering all the praise I’ve heard has come from the owner himself.”

“You’ve spoken with the owner?”

“He’s one of my best friends, actually. This will be the first time I try it out. I kept telling him I’d stop by, but it always got away from me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I can’t believe you know Seokjin.”

“Wait, you know Seokjin?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“I’d say know is a relative term. We get deliveries from the same produce truck. He tried to take my apples one time. I had to set him straight.” That makes Yoongi laugh along with you. “We chat sometimes, mostly about the quality of produce and the best places to get ingredients. I had no idea he was your friend.”

“Small world,” Yoongi says. His smile is warm and inviting. You’re sure you could get lost in it if he’d let you. It makes you wonder what his lips taste like. They have a slight sheen to them like they did this morning. Cherry chapstick? Maybe mint? A nice subtle vanilla?

You’re not sure the last time you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes. But Yoongi has your sides in stitches and your cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much during dinner.

“Oh gosh,” you wheeze between fits of giggling, clutching your stomach. “Ow, ow. Don’t make me laugh again. I can’t take it.” It just makes you laugh even more, the huffs trailing off as Yoongi reaches across the table toward you.

You pry your hands from your abdomen and slide them into his. His fingers are warm against yours, his thumbs rubbing across the backs of your knuckles. It’s a gesture he’s done several times tonight, silently asking for your hands any chance he could.

“Sorry, you just have such a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I could listen to it all day.”

His flattery hasn’t stopped. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two glasses of wine he had with dinner were going to his head. But, he speaks so assuredly and looks in your eyes like you’re truly something special.

Feeling so intimately connected with someone you barely know might be absurd. Yet, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. If you’re being honest, the attraction started long ago, and tonight has just made it blossom into something so much more.

Yoongi has been the perfect gentleman. He’s not tried to railroad the conversation or make decisions for you like other guys you’ve gone on dates with. Whenever a server approached the table, he would defer to you and your needs before his.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me tonight. Please let me repay you with coffee and dessert. If you’re up for it.”

Yoongi squeezes both your hands before letting them go and sitting back in his chair. “There is no need to ‘repay’ me,” he says, emphasizing the word repay. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a date after this date, say in fifteen minutes, coffee and dessert?”

“Fifteen minutes? Coffee and dessert?” You give him a thoughtful look, tapping your fingers against your chin. “Hmm. I think I’m available.” You both break into more fits of soft laughter, contrasting so highly to the high energy from before; it’s intimate, if laughing can be such a thing.

It’s easy being with Yoongi; he’s attentive and curious. “What made you want to open a coffee shop?” he asks as you unlock the door to the cafe.

“I liked the idea of having a space that could cater to people from all walks of life. Businessmen in a hurry? Get it to go. Students needing a place to study? I have a quiet corner for that. College professor looking for his daily decaf Americao fix? Would you look at that? I got that covered, too.” You usher him inside, closing and locking the door behind you. “It also doubles as a great place to have a private coffee and dessert date after a lovely dinner date.”

You watch as Yoongi looks around the cozy space, his attention ending on the mural wall. “What’s your favorite kind of coffee?”

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t like coffee?” you ask.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “Really?”

You shrug. “I love the way it smells, though.”

“Acrylic?” Yoongi asks, nodding toward the mural.

“Good eye,” you assess, stepping behind the counter to start making the coffee. You grab two pecan cinnamon twirls from the dry storage where you keep extra treats to take up to your apartment at the end of each shift and pop them into the small convection oven along the back wall. “You teach art, but it might be presumptuous of me to assume you also create. So, do you?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Pastels and charcoal are my favorites to work with. I like the mildly messy, chaotic feel of them. There are few things better than the feeling of taking something so uncontrolled and turning it into a thing of beauty.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Your mind instantly goes to the framed collection of pieces you have in your apartment upstairs. “I can appreciate that.”

“Maybe I can show you sometime.” Yoongi turns from his appreciation of your mural to watch you work behind the counter. He gestures to a few frames hung up on either side of the giant menu on the wall. “Arfé, right?”

You glance up, moving with automated motions to load the portafilter into the espresso machine. “Oh,” you laugh. “Yeah. An experiment. I wanted to try something new and needed some new decor. I thought it was appropriately on theme.”

The half-dozen pieces are all made with swirls of various shades in brown and tan and depict a mix of cups, mugs, bags of grinds, lumps of sugar, and piles of roasted coffee beans.

“Very appropriate. They’re lovely. You’re an exceptional artist.” You’ve lost count of the amount of compliments Yoongi has paid you tonight. You might have been the one flattering him this morning, but it seems he’s making up for that now.

“Thank you. Truly. That means a lot coming from you.” The hiss of the brew machine fills the air, and the soft gurgle of espresso trickling into the small mug follows. “One decaf Americano for one of my best customers,” you say, carefully carrying the steaming cup over to a table beside Yoongi. “Please, sit.”

Yoongi settles at the table, bringing the cup of coffee up to his nose and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Wonderful,” he murmurs before taking a tentative sip. “Thank you, that hits the spot.”

“If you think the Americano is good, wait until you try this,” you say, scooping the twirls out of the oven and onto a plate. They’re perfectly warm and gooey. “You’ve never tried any of our pastries, have you?”

You sit across from him. The table is small enough that you could reach out and cup his cheek if you wanted, and set the plate on the table before Yoongi. He whistles low, “Wow, these do look amazing. Maybe I’ll become a pecan twirl and coffee guy every morning instead.”

Your eyes track his movements, watching as his fingers pinch and slightly sink into the edges of one of the twirls. Some of the warm glaze and cinnamon sugar filling squishes from between the layers.

Yoongi’s lips part and the tip of his tongue peaks over his bottom teeth as he brings the pastry up to take a bite. The moan he lets out surprises you both. His eyes flutter before landing on you and going wide. He chews methodically, his gaze not leaving yours. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips before he swallows.

“Well?” you ask, settling your elbows on the table and leaning into him, expectant.

The smile that tugs at his lips is coy. “Might be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” There is a heat in his gaze as his eyes search yours. “What other surprises do you have up your proverbial sleeve for me?”

“Now, if I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises anymore, would they?”

That makes him laugh. “Fair point. You know,” he glances around the coffee shop, “I never knew just what it was about this coffee shop I loved so much, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah?” you say, feeling positively giddy.

“Mhm. So,” he mirrors your pose across the table, his elbows nearly touching your own, fingers toying with yours where they’re folded in the air in front of your face, “is it too soon to ask you on a second date?”

“I thought this was our second date.” You raise a teasing eyebrow, a smile quirking on your lips.

“A third then,” he offers, eyes hopeful.

Of course, you want to say yes. And in the spirit of trying to be coy and playful, you lean in with the full intent of showing him instead of telling him how much you want to go on another date.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to your lips, watching as you deliberately lick them as you lean in a bit closer. Acceptance lies within their dark depths, a flash of hunger at the impending response that’s only a breath away.

As you advance, your elbows slide on the table, accidentally knocking the coffee cup. Liquid goes everywhere; it floods over the table and pours off the side…right into Yoongi’s lap.

“Oh fuck!” you yell, jumping up from the table and rushing around to his side. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Does it burn?”

Yoongi pushes back from the table, holding his arms up off his lap as he assesses the mess. “No harm done. It was already cooled off. It's just a bit of a mess, that’s all. I’m fine,” he laughs. “Truly, I promise. Do you have any towels or anything?”

“Oh god, your shirt, it’s going to stain,” you lament, staring at the dark splotch soaking through above his trousers. “Towels? Yes. Yes. Okay. And some baking soda. Come on, let’s hurry. Again, I’m so sorry!”

“Should we clean this up first?” he asks, motioning at the coffee-covered floor.

“I can mop in the morning. Please,” you fret, guilt making you a bit frantic and flustered.

Yoongi lets you lead him up the stairs in the back that go to your apartment. “You live here?” he questions. “No wonder you were coming out of the coffee shop earlier. That’s very cool.”

You make a noncommittal sound. “It’s cool if you like the smell of coffee and don’t mind rising early every day to open shop.”

It’s so hard to think right now, your mind solely focused on cleaning up the mess you’ve made of Yoongi’s clothes. That’s what you get for trying to be sly and answer his date question with a kiss. You’ll be lucky if he still wants that date now, surely.

The bathroom is barely big enough for the two of you. You insist Yoongi sit on the lip of the tub while you dig under the sink for the baking soda that you use for cleaning and removing your own coffee stains.

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly, grabbing your attention. You glance at him over your shoulder, bottom lip clamped between your teeth in an effort not to fall apart entirely. “I promise it’s okay, alright? You don’t have to stress over it. It’s just an accident. It's a pretty funny one if you ask me. If I’d have known we were getting wet on the first—I mean, second date, I would have planned accordingly.”

His words hang between you, full of static and charged with intention. He’s trying to lighten the mood…and it’s working. It’s also making you feel a certain kind of way. Words shouldn’t have the power to do that. Yet, here you are, flustered for a whole different reason now.

“Date’s not over yet,” you respond, unsure where the bold attitude came from, but you’ll take it. His eyes flicker with something like surprise mixed with desire, though it’s gone before you can really be sure. “Do you mind?” You gesture to his shirt. “It’ll be easier if I can soak it in the sink.”

Slowly, Yoongi undoes the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. Somehow, you weren’t expecting him to be naked underneath, but every open button reveals another swath of flesh. He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a toned chest and taut belly. His nipples are hard, dark chips, standing out in contrast to his smooth, creamy skin. Yoongi is absolutely breathtaking.

In fact, you have to remind yourself to breathe, taking in a large lungful of air that’s so much it makes your chest ache. He holds the shirt out to you in offering. Your fingers tremble lightly as you take it, quickly turning back to the sink and the distraction of scrubbing at the stain.

Reading over the garment tag quickly, you make sure what you’re about to do is okay. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on your back, like heated dagger points pricking beneath your skin. You turn on the water, letting the tap run until it’s hot, before quickly swishing the area of the shirt covered in coffee under it. The hot water alone makes a world of difference, the dark liquid swirling away down the drain.

“Do you want my pants, too?” Yoongi asks, startling you.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror, looking at him through the reflection. He’s talking to you, but his attention is zeroed in on your backside. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware that your dress has ridden up dangerously high. You can feel the cool air of the bathroom kissing the crease between your thigh and asscheek.

Turning off the water, you slowly turn to face him. Your chest rises and falls as you try to take deep, even breaths, but with the way your heart is revving inside, it’s impossible to do so. “Let’s see the damage,” you say lightly, raising an eyebrow in question, giving him a chance to call you off.

When he doesn’t comment further, you close the distance to where he’s sitting and ease down onto your knees. You mentally tell yourself it’s so you can get a better look at the coffee that’s saturating the dark fabric, but you know better than that.

Being so close to him, you can feel the heat of his body. His chest rises and falls as rapidly as yours, and when you look up and meet his gaze, there is no mistaking the fire that you see blazing there. “Don’t think I forgot you still haven’t answered my question,” he murmurs, lips barely moving as he watches you.

You lift a hand, hooking your index finger under his chin and using it to angle his face toward yours. “I’d love that,” you respond, your lips brushing over his with every syllable.

He kisses you. Or maybe you kiss him. It’ll be something you tease each other over for many years to come. You open yourself to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against yours. The kiss tastes mildly of coffee, yet for the first time in your life, you don’t mind the flavor.

“For me to take my pants off, or the date?” he teases, alternating between nipping and consuming kisses. Yoongi’s hands frame your face, holding you to him as he continues to ravage your mouth.

“Mm, both,” you manage to get out. “Definitely both.” Sliding your hands down his torso, you marvel at the softness of his skin and the already very prominent bulge that your fingers dance over as you try to get a grip on the button to his slacks.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss long enough to help you with his pants, standing up from the edge of the tub and bringing you up with him. He toes off his shoes, leaving his pants puddled on top of them. “Good answer,” he chuckles.

You let out a tiny squeal as he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and hauls you up, your legs automatically winding around his waist. Thick erection pressed right against your panty-covered pussy, he slowly walks you out of the bathroom and into your adjoining room. You land on the bed with a soft oomph, Yoongi following you down. His weight is a comfort, settled over your body in a warm, hedonistic embrace.

“I’ll change classes,” you pant, flexing your hips against his. “As long as our next date is to an art gallery.”

“Is it weird for that to turn me on?” he responds, groaning as you roll your hips against him again. “The art part, not the dropping classes part. You don’t have to do that if it’s too much trouble. I know your schedule must be pretty set with the cafe.”

You press your hands against his chest, giving him a gentle push until he’s rolling over and you’re hovering over him. “I’ll make it work. I want to make it work. Everything tonight,” you pause and sit back on your heels, dragging your hands along his torso as you do, “I want more. You’re driving me crazy in the best of ways.”

“Says the woman who’s been running through my thoughts for the last several months now.” Yoongi’s lips part in a gasp, turning his last word into a breathly plea as you trace the tips of your fingers over his straining erection. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs is slightly sticky when you brush your thumb over the head.

“It reminds me of making art,” you casually say, curling your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and tugging until he lifts his hips and lets you drag them down. You toss them to the side, marveling at the glory now resting against his belly. Yoongi’s cock is a gentle upward curve, all smooth steel and thick veins. It throbs, bouncing against his stomach, leaving behind a thick smear of precum. “The way you make me feel.”

“Art?” he asks, breathless. His eyes flutter behind his glasses, his chest hollowing as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Being with you gives me the same feeling as viewing a Duncanson or a Matisse, calm and full of joy. Though, you can also make me feel the chaos of a Kandinsky when you touch me.” To emphasize your words, you wrap your fingers around his girth, angling it up, watching the emotions on his face. The tip of his tongue works at the corner of his mouth, lips parted with every pant and soft moan. “Is this okay?” you ask, leaning down and gently blowing over the leaking tip before tentatively giving it a kitten lick.

“More than,” Yoongi moans. His eye slide closed as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. The flavor of him bursts across your tongue. You can’t help but moan yourself at the idea you’ve made him like this, hard and leaking.

Working as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, you delight in the shuddering convulses you can feel from his body as he loses himself in the sensations you’re bringing him. Yoongi always seems like such a collected individual. He still appeared so well-kept even when he stuttered over his words asking you on the date this morning. Now, though, he’s unraveling into a puddle of debauchery.

It’s a satisfying feeling, similar to when you get into a perfect rhythm when working on a project, bringing him to the edge. You work your mouth and hand in tandem, never leaving an inch of his cock free of your touch.

“Mmm,” you moan, the head of his cock resting in the back of your throat. Yoongi jerks under you, half raising onto his elbows, his eyes zeroing in on where you’re wrapped around him.

His fingers twist into the duvet, bottom lip puffy and flushed as he worries it with his teeth. “I’m going to cum,” he grunts, throwing his head back and moaning his pleasures, deep and throaty.

You quicken your pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck in earnest. Yoongi cries out a second before liquid warmth floods your mouth. It’s greedy, the way you swallow and continue to lave your tongue over him, eliciting tiny tremors and more moans.

“Just like art,” you whisper, finally letting his cock slip from between your lips. You’re riding your own high, wet and throbbing between your thighs. You can feel the ache in your clit, begging to be touched. All it would take is a few seconds, a few well-placed swirls of your fingers, and you know you’d be floating in orgasmic bliss.

Before you can even think of bringing your hand between your thighs to find relief, Yoongi is sitting up and urging you backward. Your back hits the mattress, and he settles on his side beside you. Somewhere between there and here, he pulled off his glasses. Despite having just found his release, his eyes are still so full of hunger and desire.

“May I?” he asks, pressing a hand against your inner thigh. You nod, eyes locked with his as he slowly trails his hand upward until his fingers brush over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. Your lids flutter closed, consumed as you are by his touch.

Yoongi takes his time, toying with the edge of your panties before tugging them down past your knees. They pool around your ankles as he pushes your thighs apart, exposing your weeping pussy to the air of the bedroom.

“Yoongi.” His name is half moan, half curse as he brings his hand back up and cups your heat. The meat of his palm rests against your clit, right where you need to be touched, but the pressure isn’t enough to satisfy.

“An exquisite work of art.” His lips strum against yours, plucking and teasing just the way his fingers do through your wetness. The tips of his fingers briefly kiss your clit, dancing away before returning; a slow build of decadent pleasure.

It’s not above you to beg. “Please. Yoongi, please!”

“Open your eyes, look at me. Let me watch you fall apart so I can brand it into my memory.”

You snap open your eyes the exact moment he slides two slender fingers into your pussy, thumb finally giving the needed pressure to your clit. You’re so worked up that your body pulses around the intrusion, a tiny fluttering orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Yoongi gives you a wicked, knowing smile. “It’s not over yet, beautiful,” he assures you in a whispered promise.

His fingers are long, able to reach the perfect, special place inside you. As he strokes his fingertips, moving them in an undulating wave, his thumb swirls in a circle around your clit.

The next orgasm is less surprising, building to a heightened peak that has you crying out as you careen over the edge, entirely at Yoongi’s mercy. “Yoongi, fuck!” you babble, your whole body alive with sensations of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “So beautiful.”

Your body shudders around his hand, his fingers slowing down their rhythm until you finally recover. The slide of his fingers along your walls as he withdraws makes you wish he’d put them back in…or maybe something else. The bereft feeling lasts only a moment before Yoongi gathers you into his arms. He’s completely naked, and you’re still wearing your dress, but you feel just as exposed as he is…only, it’s your soul on display for him instead of your body.

You wait for the feeling of vulnerability to filter in, that broken feeling of uncertainty. But, it doesn’t come. The only thing you feel is complete and utter content. It’s not even the post-orgasmic bliss that’s clouding it, either. No, there’s plenty of that, but it feels different; he feels different.

“Yoongi,” you begin, resting your cheek on his chest. You want to confess to him, but the words get choked in your throat. Is it too soon? Are you completely crazy? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Fuck. Here goes nothing. “This feels good, really good. Is it too soon to say…?”

“Too soon to say?” he prompts.

You absently trace haphazard swirls and lines across his chest, trying to think of how to word it. “I, well…”

“Too soon to say that I think possibly, maybe, I’m falling for you?” You look up at him, surprised by his words. Yoongi looks at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. “Because that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-12-30 ColorMePurplex2

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi imagines #coffeeshop au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #professor yoongi #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts imagines #micdropnet #bangtanwhq

[m-yg93]

Solace

Pairing: KNJ x Reader

WC: 13.5k

Genre: Roommates2L

Rating: M (minors dni)

Warnings: Brief blood mention from a cut, mention of minor character death (sickness), fingering, hand job, big dick joon, belly bulge, unprotected sex, mentions of choking, creampie, dirty talk, inconsistent POV

Banner by @sugarwithtea​

Beta’d by @yoongiobsessed​ and Sara (twitter link)

Summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

Author’s Note: This should have been written months ago. I don’t have an excuse. Oh well, it’s here now! 

Part of the Room For Rent collab

There needs to be a word that describes the feeling of being happy for someone while simultaneously going through betrayal.

Namjoon is happy for Yoongi, of course he is, but watching him from across their kitchen table is sending an uncomfortable wave through him. He didn’t expect his oldest and closest friend to run from him, leave him in the dust, just straight up abandon him.

“Oh my God, you’re being dramatic. I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving to Gangnam. It’s just across the river! You and your freakishly thick thighs can bike to my new place in 20 minutes.”

Okay so perhaps he’s being a little dramatic but what else was he supposed to think? He and Yoongi had shared this apartment for years. There had been countless sleepless nights fueled by too much ramen, the living room littered with energy drinks as they bumped heads and helped each other brainstorm ideas for new beats. These walls hold melodies and memories, and he’s just expected to share them with someone else now?

“Plus, I told you you’re welcome to move in with Jin and I. His dad’s some CEO and the apartment is ridiculously lavish. There’s a room with your name on the door if you want it. I’m serious, Jin has this thing with plaques and has a name for every room, it’s honestly worrying. I won’t even tell you what he decided to name the master bedroom.”

Namjoon purses his lips at the thought. That was the main reason behind turning Yoongi’s offer down. He likes Jin and genuinely loves that he brings so much light into Yoongi’s naturally dreary life. Seeing Yoongi’s lips fight against a smile only to burst into the cheesiest, gummy grin while audibly groaning about his boyfriend’s terrible jokes brings a warmth to Namjoon’s chest every time. Yoongi deserves to be happy and he knows Jin is the best person for the job. But he knows full well the couple will christen every room of that apartment and he wants no part of it.

“I know,” he agrees, “But with the proximity to Yongsan park? I don’t know if I’ll ever leave this place.” The open fields just outside the doors of their apartment are the first solace he reaches for when the instrumentals in his brain just keep fighting each other, transforming into the screeching noise of the streets under his window. The trees don’t talk back but letting out his frustrations under the canopy of leaves feels like it helps anyway. “I guess I’ll have to try to pick up some extra freelance contracts to make up for having to pay the rent alone. I hate having to produce meaningless pop but it brings in decent cash when I’m in a tight spot,” he laments.

“Dude, I’m not heartless. I didn’t just decide to move out and leave you stranded. I have a friend from high school. I don’t see her often but she’s a good time and she’s looking to move out of her parents’ place now that she’s done with her degree. It’ll be easier to find work in the city. I’ve mentioned her. Y/N? I go out to dinner with her every couple months to make sure we keep in touch. She’s pretty shy and she’s quiet, you’ll barely notice she’s here.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes with knowing he won’t have to pinch pennies but it quickly turns frigid at the realization that he’ll have to live with a stranger. What if she was a morning person? What if she was a smoker and made the whole apartment fill with the lingering acrid smell? What if she killed his plants?

“I can see your brain working overtime. Breathe, I wouldn’t offer the place to someone I know doesn’t fit your vibe,” Yoongi reassures. I guess there’s not much else to do but wait and see how compatible your living situations are.

Thankfully their own music equipment had been bought separately because they’ve been bickering all day when Yoongi tries to put something in a box from their shared spaces only to have Namjoon object.

“What are you going to do with a wok, Joon? YOU DON’T COOK!”

“Jin has a plethora of different ones in his kitchen and we both know it! Maybe your friend likes to cook, huh? Maybe she’ll want the wok to make meals.”

“Make you meals, you mean?” Okay so maybe he was hoping the new roommate situation came with food because losing both Yoongi and Jin’s cooking overnight was going to hit him hard. He’ll wither away into a string bean at this rate seeing as he’s not allowed near the knives nor the stove.

Yoongi must take pity in the pleading look in his eyes because he puts down the wok with a sigh and passes to the next cupboard. Namjoon is distracted by Jin’s entrance, always loud and boisterous.

“Hey! How is packing going? I just parked the moving van downstairs but I don’t know how long I’m allowed to be there.”

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shouts from across the apartment. “I’d be done already if Joon didn’t try to steal all my shit and force me to leave them here.” He’s zooming past him, bony shoulder purposefully digging into Joon’s bicep.

“I’m monitoring the fair share of roommate assets,” he huffs. “Jin’s apartment has more shit in it than he already needs. You’re leaving me alone with only memories that you once cared for me. The least you could do is not leave with half of what’s in this measly dwelling when your sugar daddy’s got you up in a penthouse.”

They both know the jabs are jokes. Jin has more money than anyone needs, but he’s also a hard worker and spent his youth learning how to take over the business from his father when the time comes. He’d swept Yoongi off his feet with expensive dinners and outrageous gifts when they were first dating, only knowing how to flaunt his money for attention before Yoongi set him straight and taught him that he’d have to put more thought into his courting if he expected him to stick around. Clearly, he did.

Reminiscing about his, nearly ex, roommate almost distracts him enough to miss Yoongi trying to sneak a thin square package into his last remaining box.

“You’re going to take that vinyl out of here over my dead body, Yoongi!” The apartment echoes the lament in surround sound.

They do eventually make it to the van parked downstairs after Yoongi finishes taping up his boxes with only a limited amount of protest from Namjoon.. The air is humid, clothes sticking to Namjoon’s skin as he chases after the wind from Yoongi’s open window like a dog on his first car ride. Jin’s apartment building is a stark opposite from their, his, own. Whereas the outside of his building is all grey concrete walls, Jin’s is all sleek glass of floor-to-ceiling windows causing the brightness of the sun to reflect off and into Namjoon’s eyes as he looks up to the top where his friend will now be living.

The air conditioning of the lobby hits full force, the trio letting out a pleasant hum which quickly turns into a deep groan when they see the elevator boasting an out of order sign. Two pairs of sharp eyes round on Jin, malice dripping from furrowed brows.

“I swear it was working when I left this morning. They must be using all the power to keep each unit’s AC going through the heat wave. The stairs are this way.” He points to a corner of the lobby, tight corridor leading to a single door.

“The stairs? You live in the penthouse, that’s FIFTEEN flights, babe.” Yoongi is quick to point out.

“Are you trusting enough to keep all your music equipment in the van for who knows how long this heat is going to last? I know you’re going to complain about all the moisture in the air messing with your delicate settings.” Namjoon knows he’s got him there. Yoongi would suffer through a natural disaster if it meant keeping his equipment safe and at peak performance.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs dejectedly, head thrown backwards. “But I won’t be any help bringing the gear up. You see these legs? They’ll snap like toothpicks if I try to bring them up. Guess Biceps and Shoulders need to do all the heavy lifting.” There’s an airy lilt to his voice when he figures he’s saved himself from the worst bit.

“Doubt they’ll stay that small seeing how many times you’ll be going up and down those stairs to bring up all the light boxes while we deal with the heavy stuff. You’ll have lungs of steel with all that cardio, buddy. I’m sure Jin will appreciate how long he can hold his dick in your throat without you needing to breathe after that.” Namjoon sends him a salacious wink.

Yoongi’s face, which had been a flushed shade of pink from the heat, drains immediately when he realizes the position he’s put himself in but Namjoon doesn’t let him change his mind. He just claps a hand on his shoulder and turns around to get to the van and pick up the first console they’ll need to bring up to Yoongi’s new designated studio space.

Namjoon regrets showing Friends to Jin after today. If he has to hear ‘PIVOT’ one more forsaken time he might choke that windshield wiper laugh right out his friend’s throat. His whole body is aching when he sets his ass down on Jin’s plush couch, finally tasting a bite of heaven after all those steps but it can’t be savored long.

“Get up.” Yoongi’s voice breaks through his needed rest. “The elevator mishap made us take way longer than planned and we’re already late to pick up Y/N.” If anyone sees him fighting back tears that’s none of their business.

The drive out to the suburbs of Seoul is peaceful, the population seems to have holed up inside and away from the sun’s rays. They pull up to a nice two-story home. Namjoon can’t see much into the property since it’s surrounded by tall brick walls, but it’s unnecessary as he can see the silhouette of a young woman waiting outside the gate, piles of boxes at her feet.

They all pour out of the truck, Yoongi darts out first to meet her halfway where she throws herself in his arms. There’s a lot of squealing and Namjoon isn’t sure from who it’s coming out of in the mess of limbs. They separate and approach where he and Jin had waited by the vehicle.

“I’m Y/N, you must be Jin!” There’s a hand out ready to be shaken but it’s presented in front of the wrong man.

“Actually, Jin is this one,” Yoongi corrects, taking your wrist and moving it to the correct person.

“Oh my God, that’s embarrassing. I just figured it was the big one. I’ve heard about your muscle kink enough once you figured out you were into men that I just-- You know what? I’m going to shut up now. Hi, sorry about that. Nice to meet you.” There’s a nervous giggle in between words that’s instantly endearing.

Jin doesn’t seem offended, laughing alongside her. “No worries, he’s plenty satisfied without the beefiness of his teenage crushes.” He wiggles his eyebrows comically which has her chuckling and Yoongi whining.

“This is Namjoon, your new roommate. Joon, this is Y/N.” It’s his turn to shake hands, your fingers so thin and delicate around his much bigger grasp. He takes the time to really take you in, looking down at you; wide grin and smooth skin that spans from your neck down into your… Nope, face!

“You have a nice face.” For a lyricist he sure did have a way with words.

“Thank you?” Your eyes trail to the side where Yoongi stands, eyes deadpan and mouth shut tight.

“He grows on you, I swear. Get in the car, we’ll grab your boxes.” Yoongi says as he passes in front of you with an icy stare towards Namjoon. Okay, so he could have made a better first impression.

You don’t have many boxes which makes sense. The apartment is furnished and Yoongi had left his bedroom set for you since he wouldn’t need it at Jin’s. He remembers leaving his parent’s house with barely anything. It had taken a while for Yoongi and him to make the apartment seem like people actually lived in it. They’d spent far too long eating cup noodles while sitting on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

Jin takes his place behind the wheel, Yoongi slipping in beside him in the passenger seat. The earlier ride in the backseat wasn’t so bad for Namjoon since he could sit crookedly to fit his long legs behind the couple’s seats in front of him but your presence beside him forces his knees to hit the back of Yoongi’s seat.

“Can you push your seat up a bit? Your little legs don’t need that much space,” Namjoon shoots ahead of him.

“And just for that comment your giant ass and long limbs can suck it up. Respect your elders, brat,” Yoongi snaps back. Maybe he deserved that one.

He sends you a sheepish look and an awkward smile as he spreads open his thighs lewdly. His knee hits yours despite you sticking your legs together demurely, hands politely sitting in your lap. The touch attracts your gaze and Namjoon can track your eyes as they drag up the bare skin of his quad, past the hem where the material of his shorts dig into his thighs, and settles just a little too long where both his legs meet. He can practically feel your stare burning a hole into his groin, a heat expanding through his body.

He doesn’t even realize when he lets out an uneasy cough and you’re quick to look away with a start when you hear it; clearly having been caught in your little perversion. The flush that builds on your cheeks is shameful enough that he doesn’t mention anything more, only locking away the memory of you blushing and embarrassed for later.

Namjoon is thankful that with four pairs of arms there won’t be a need to do multiple trips for your boxes. Jin sends you and Yoongi off with a box each but loads Namjoon’s arms with three; enough to block his view so he has to peek around them to see where he’s going. There might not be many boxes but the ones he’s been given are heavy enough to make his arms shake underneath their weight. He’s absolutely going to blame that on having had to haul all of Yoongi’s belongings during the day and definitely not on the fact he’s weak. He goes to the gym regularly!

“Thanks for helping! Just leave them by the door, I’ll take care of unloading everything,” you call from across the apartment. Yoongi must be giving you a tour of the place.

Namjoon kicks off his shoes and crashes head first into the couch, his big body halfway dropping off of it. All his muscles ache and he’s sticky with sweat. His lids close, reaching for some rest. His stomach rumbles, the memory of breakfast fading. There’s soft footsteps sneaking up on him. He’s trained himself enough to catch Yoongi coming. He’s broken enough things when his roommate suddenly appeared by his side and gave him a spook.

“Don’t think I’m an idiot, Joon. I could see the way you looked at her. I’m only going to say this once, don’t fuck my friend.” His voice is almost sinister as it whispers in his ear. Namjoon’s eyes quickly open wide. He wasn’t looking at you in any sort of way and he was about to defend himself, mouth open with a denial on his tongue. He doesn’t have the chance since you pop around the corner, seeing them both with their heads too close to each other, Yoongi’s glare facing Namjoon’s incredulous look.

“Everything good here?” you ask.

Yoongi’s expression shifts, gummy smile on full display but Namjoon still sees the daggers in his eyes. “Yep, I was just saying bye to Joon. Jin’s already back at the van and we need to get it back to the vendor. Text me if you need anything Y/N. And Joon? Remember what I said.” He and Jin take their leave, surely to start desecrating their new shared space.

“Okay? Is it just me or was he being weird?” You look back at Namjoon but there’s only a shrug of his shoulders as your reply. “Alright, well I’m going to start unpacking then.” You’re just about to turn tail when you can hear the growl coming from Namjoon again. “Ah, you must be hungry, you’ve been going around the city all day. Is there anything already in the kitchen?”

“No, we went through all of it when Yoongi and Jin decided to have a goodbye dinner this week. You get started on unpacking and I’ll run down to the store for some stuff. I think we’re both too tired to do much effort but I can grab ingredients for some decent ramen.” Namjoon slips his shoes back on and running out the door as soon as he finishes speaking.

Luckily, there’s a small family owned market just down the street from the apartment. Mrs. Park is going to be sad to hear that her ‘little dumpling’, as she called Yoongi, won’t be visiting her anymore. She’s mostly used to seeing Namjoon anyway. Yoongi may have been the one cooking but Joon was always the one sent off on errands for any ingredients that were missing midway through the meal preparation.

The bell chimes above him when he walks into the little shop. Mrs. Park doesn’t even look up from her newspaper, head staring firmly into her lap. There’s a low buzz emitting from the artificial lights mixing with the music that’s playing in the shop, something Namjoon doesn’t know, a beat that hasn’t been popular in half a century.

The aisles are familiar and he grabs the ingredients absentmindedly, throwing things in the handheld basket hooked onto the crook of his arm. Green onions from the produce section, a carton of eggs and a hunk of cheese from the dairy section, and spam from the canned goods area.

Mrs. Park finally lifts her eyes from whatever news story that had her attention and gives him a warm smile that reaches her eyes. He should give his grandma a call. A smooth wrinkled hand grabs his groceries one by one, slowly bringing them closer for inspection. Her frail finger punches into the keys of the register.

His eyes wander while his items disappear from the counter and into a bag beneath the surface. The sky has turned a slate grey from an overbearing cloud covering the sun, bringing the vibrance of outside down to a dull.

Against the window is a shelf filled with flowers. Namjoon has often seen people grabbing a bouquet as they wait for their total. He remembers a man with a tie midway undone, suit jacket flapping behind him as he rushed out frantically. A forgotten anniversary he suspected. Just last week, there was a small child tugging at his father’s sleeve, pointing at a particularly bright blossom and requesting to bring it home to his mother. The memory brings a small smile to his lips.

He doesn’t contemplate long before reaching for a lonely white rose in a near empty bucket. He remembers certain symbolism from the time he read The Language of Flowers. Purity, innocence, a new beginning, and reverence. He thinks he catches a mischievous glint in Mrs. Park’s eye as she hands him the bag of groceries in one hand while the rose remains in his other.

The universe allows him only long enough to step out of the shop before the skies open up with a loud clap and water erupts in a downpour. Shock overtakes him and he freezes on the spot as he lets the fat water droplets sink into the fabric of his clothes. The cold immediately seepsinto his skin and settles in his bones, eyes shut tight and mouth open.

The loud rumble of distant thunder urges him to start moving. The plastic of the bag is slippery in his grasp and there’s a stinging pain in his palm from where the rose’s thorns dig in. There’s an uncomfortable squeak from the leather of his sandals with every heavy step he takes. As he sprints the few blocks back to the apartment, the loud slap slap slap of his foot hitting the pavement.

The door of the apartment slams into the wall as Namjoon rushes to get inside, the doorknob undoubtedly leaving a mark from the force at which Namjoon has opened it to throw himself inside.

“Namjoon? Is everything okay?” you call from the living room. “I’m sorry for the mess, I’m trying to fit in my own books across your collection. I don’t want to mess up the system you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah, all good, just wasn’t paying attention,” he reassures.

Your head pops out from the hallway to take inventory of the situation yourself, not quite trusting the waver in his voice. “Oh god, it started raining? I was so in my bubble that I didn’t even notice. You’re soaked! Let me grab you a towel.” You’re off to the bathroom before he can even thank you, already back to exchange the flower still in his grasp for the towel you hand him.

“I hope it didn’t take a beating on my way back over here,” he says, worry tainting the edge of his voice.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you. Do you know if you have any vases?”

“I’m sure Yoongi’s left some in the kitchen. Jin had a habit of getting him a new bouquet every month. Don’t tell Yoongi I said this but he’d blush every time despite all the grumbling he did about it. Happened every month for two years, like clockwork,” he teases.

“That sounds about right. Yoongi will never admit it but I know how much praise and appreciation means to him. I’m glad Jin gives him that. I’ll go find it.” You’re turning tail and heading into the kitchen in search of the vase.

He pats himself dry enough so that he’s no longer dripping on the floor before he follows you in. You’re in front of an open cabinet, head tilted back to look at the top shelf of it. Your hand is stretched to its capacity, boosted by the tip of your toes, one knee nearly hiking onto the countertop to give yourself enough reach.

He truly only means to help when he sneaks in behind you to grab at the vase. He doesn’t expect to catch you off guard, sending you backwards and off balance with a squeak. His grasp abandons its path towards the top shelf and instead redirects to land on your hips, pinning you against his chest.

You’re taken by surprise at the strong hands grabbing onto your side, a hard wall of muscle at your back, heat radiating from his skin, his wet clothes dampening yours.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breath just a little too close to your ear.

There’s a hitch in your voice when you reply hastily, “Mhm! All good. I’ll let you get that actually. I’m going to change. My clothes are gross from today. You should too, you’re going to catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes. Your shirt’s so soaked I can see right through it. Not that I was looking! I’ll just- right.”

You’re running off before he can articulate a thought, the door of your room slamming shut behind you. He’s nearly certain he can hear an embarrassed groan through the wall despite that. He does get the vase down and fills it with water, dropping the rose into it before he slips into his room as well.

The rain will be good for the heat in the long run but as it stands it just permeates the apartment with heavy humidity. He grabs a pair of comfortable shorts and a tank top to change into. He passes next to your room on his way to the bathroom. He takes the time to stop and knock at your door.

“Y/N? Do you need to use the bathroom? I’m going to jump in the shower really quick.”

“Go ahead! I’ll take one after dinner.”

His clumsy fingers struggle with the lock behind him, clothes falling onto the floor. The bluetooth speaker that has a permanent residence in the bathroom is turned on, a playlist going at random. He makes sure to adjust the temperature of the water, slightly colder than he usually would. It’s absolutely to combat the heat and definitely not the memory of your body pressed against his in the kitchen; soft under his hands and plump against where his crotch pushed in under the curve of your ass.

Oh god, focus on something else. Listen to the music. The beat is uplifting and he finds himself singing along to the lyrics. A popular song from a girl group member. He recalls Yoongi mentioning he’s worked on something similar.

He lets the tepid water run down his body, hands quick and rough where he scrubs the soap into his skin, not letting them stay in one spot too long to melt into the feeling. Yep, he definitely needs to have it colder. It’s near shivering levels of frigid when he ducks his head under the stream to rinse the shampoo out of his hair.

He’s nearly forgotten about the shape of your body against him, mind preoccupied with the soprano of the singer in his ears. Pop pop, pop, you want it. His body responds as if with muscle memory from seeing this song trend with its choreo everywhere online. His hands take turns pointing at an open hand and back again, fists then popping as if miming fireworks going down a zig zag pattern.

The haunting thoughts of the kitchen eventually disperse enough for him to exit the stream of water and change into the clean, dry clothes. You’re already in the kitchen humming to yourself once he leaves the room followed by a puff of steam.

“Do you need me to help with anything?” he proposes.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Can you slice up the spam and drop the eggs into the water? There’s a pot already boiling.” Put eggs in water and cut up some meat. Sure, he can do that.

The eggs may have cracked a little when he quite literally dropped them into the pot but that’s fine. A little hard boiled never hurt anyone. He swears he’s extra careful when you hand him a knife and let him stand in front of the cutting board. Just going to very daintily hold down the spam and slowly bring the knife down-

“You’re holding it upside down. Sharp edge towards the bottom and make sure you curl your knuckles in so you don’t nick yourself.” Right, of course, he knew the knife was upside down. Just making sure you did, hah.

He manages to make some slightly uneven slices until about halfway through the block but eventually there’s just not enough space for his big sausage fingers to hold on and the knife just slips…right into his palm.

“Ah, shit!” He jumps back, letting the knife clatter to the floor. His uninjured hand keeps the pressure onto the wound as small river of red runs between his fingers. He’s taken by surprise and lets himself be manhandled to the sink before his wounded hand is pushed under the cold, running water.

“I should have figured why Yoongi was so ominously telling me where the first aid kit was in the kitchen. And why he asked how often I cooked at home.” There’s shuffling behind him and a small hand sneaking its way between his body and the sink.

“Take it out, I’ll pat it dry and put a bandage on.” He’s careful to keep his hand stable as your delicate fingers patch him up. A soft pressure with a gauze and a more instant one for the wrap that goes around his palm.

“My friend JK is going to think I took up boxing and ask me to go to the gym with him if he sees this.” He tries to laugh it off, bringing humor into his near amputation.

“I don’t think you need any incentive to go to the gym.” Your eyes are trailing up his arm, stopping at his bicep and following all the way to the middle of his chest. The flex he pushes is completely accidental and was absolutely not to show off the progress he’s been building.

“I take care of myself, I guess.”

“Right.” There’s a small laugh in your voice. “Go take care of yourself, away from the kitchen. I’ll handle the rest.”

He lets himself be shooed out of the hot space, out into the living room where he sees your earlier comment about a mess. There’s books all over the floor in little towers looking for a home on his already overly compacted bookshelf. He picks a few of his bigger tomes to rehouse to his room which allows space for yours to make themselves at home.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been calculating which books need to be relocated until he hears the clatter of bowls hitting the coffee table behind him.

“I figured we could eat in here today, more casual and all. Thank you for helping me make sense of where to put my stuff. I didn’t want to impose.”

“This is your home too now, you deserve to have space for your things. Yoongi wasn’t much of a reader. Thank you for dinner. I’m afraid you’re going to be in charge of feeding me a lot. I can always just order in but Yoongi was always on my ass for spending money on takeout.” He has the humility to look ashamed at his incapacity to nurture himself.

“No worries, it was kind of implied when he told me to take his spot. I like cooking, so I don’t mind, really. Tell me more about yourself though, I only know what Yoongi’s told me which is pretty much only that you produce music like he does. You’ve got an eye for art from what I can see of the prints on the walls.”

“Ah, actually those are all mine,” he blushes and points to a camera that takes a place on one of the higher shelves. “I like biking around and I figured it was a shame to see all the pretty landscapes without getting to commemorate them properly so I got into photography. I’m not a professional or anything but I enjoy it. I’m actually going to Comic Con this weekend with a group of my friends. They’re cosplaying and they wanted someone around to take pictures of them in costume. JK's actually got a pretty great Spiderman thing going on and it works for him with all the, you know, muscles and spandex.” He’s gesturing a little wildly over his body, as if you’re familiar with Jungkook’s physique.

“I don’t but I can imagine.” Your eyes are following where his hands had gestured over him, gaze roaming over the muscles he’s boasting himself. “You don’t happen to have any spandex hiding in your closet yourself?”

“Nothing like him, riding shorts for when I take particularly long bike rides. I don’t tend to favor it, they really ride up.” His sentence ends in an uncomfortable chuckle and he avoids your view, completely missing how your eyes have started to glaze over.

The small talk fades after that, replaced with the sound of chopsticks hitting the edge of bowls and the occasional slurps. You hold your chopsticks loosely between bites, your phone in your spare hand just mindlessly scrolling.

There’s a familiar tune coming softly from your direction, a low hum of a melody that triggers Namjoon’s receptors. He can place it pretty quickly, pop pop pop uh uh.

His hands take on a mind of their own. He doesn’t stop chewing as his fists go through the movement. Open palm, point, switch, zigzag.

He wouldn’t have even not realized what he was doing if a little giggle hadn’t interrupted the flow of the song. He freezes, eyes widening. It’s a slow pan of his eyes to look into his peripheral, as if not moving his head would somehow render him invisible and able to melt away from the embarrassing situation he’s caught himself in.

You’re doing your best to hold it in, lips nearly completely sucked into your mouth, teeth forcing them closed. He appreciates the effort but he can admit the jig is up. He picks his chopsticks back up with a little cough, gathering his bearings.

“It’s a catchy song,” he defends.

“Oh absolutely, it gets stuck in your head so easily. Even when hearing it off key and through the rush of running water,” you tease.

He pretends to be offended by that. “I’m a producer! I’ll have you know I have great pitch.”

“Of course, someone should tell Nayeon that she’s in the wrong key then. How embarrassing for her to be performing it that way.”

You both dissolve into laughter after that. The silence that follows feels a lot lighter than it previously had been and he breathes a little easier.

“Leave your dishes in the sink, I’ll take care of it in exchange for the cooking labour. I rarely break things anymore. Even if Yoongi won’t let me forget about his favorite mug. I still insist that the shape wasn’t ergonomic and that’s why it slipped out of my hand. He was so mad he refused to drink any coffee that day and knowing Yoongi you know how that was more a punishment for me than it was for himself,” he shares the memory of how grumpy Yoongi had been that day. They must have restarted the same beat half a dozen times. Suffice to say it wasn’t a very productive day and Namjoon owed him a new mug of his choosing.

Your first night together was fruitful. You’ve managed to unpack and meld your belongings with his, have dinner - where he didn’t kill himself in the kitchen - and bond over some banter. You’ve practically ingrained yourself in his life already and Namjoon isn’t sure if that’s good or a little terrifying. He’s not the type to usually feel comfortable with a stranger so quickly. He’s glad Yoongi had you take his place, he doubts it would have been this pleasurable if he had had to place an ad online.

There’s a ghost of a smile stuck on his face when he closes the door to his bedroom. Being alone in his room brings forth the thoughts he’d pushed aside back to the forefront. His computer monitor lights up the space, calling him back. The mixing board on his desk blares a signal he can’t ignore. He has a project to finish and the deadline is knocking at his door incessantly. He sits in his chair with a sigh and slips his headphones over his ears, blocking out the loud patter of raindrops on his window.

He awakes with a start. His back is sore and his skin is damp with sweat. He’s too old to be falling asleep on his desk like this, he’s going to feel it in the morning. The room is pitch black around him. A quick jiggle of the mouse tells him the computer is dead and there’s a hint of panic at the thought of having lost his work. Rationale takes over to remind him that it automatically gets stored on the cloud at consistent intervals. They’ve learned their lesson too many times before implementing that.

There’s an odd irritation at the back of his mind and he realizes the thrum of the AC is missing. Ah, no power. The storm must have knocked it out. His muscles scream from the stretch and there’s more than a few uncomfortable cracks when he gets up and extends his arms above his head. He slips out of his clothes in hopes that more skin in contact with any air might help him cool down. Besides, he always sleeps in his boxers anyway. The air has dried up his throat and he can feel his body begging for water. He grabs the latest water bottle to litter his desk, tips it all the way upside down but not a drop comes.

He hopes he can traverse the apartment to the kitchen silently. Between his heavy footsteps and the stubborn squeaky floorboard outside his bedroom he’s worried about waking you. He sends a silent prayer into the universe that you’re a deep sleeper.

He does hit the floorboard, sending a creek into the night and he freezes for a second but no angry outbursts come from your room to scold him. He’s slowly taking a step in front of the other, carefully moving his weight from one foot to the next, the little smack of his sole hitting the wooden floor melding into the sounds of the rain still pouring outside.

The pressure from the faucet sends the water stream beating onto the metal of the sink and he hopes the curse he lets out fades into the night. He downs two whole glasses before he feels sated and prepares for the slow trek back to his room.

He’s just outside your door when the apartment flashes as lightning touches down in the distance. Namjoon stops moving as the roll of thunder comes quickly behind, nearly covering the strangled gasp from the other side of the door.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?" The door to Yoongi’s room always had trouble latching since Namjoon drunkenly threw himself into the frame thinking he was heading into his own bed one night.

There’s a small crack where he can press his ear to. He holds his breath, straining to hear above the rattle of the heavy rain against the windows. For a second he believes he must’ve imagined it, or perhaps you’d shifted in your sleep.

He has one foot in the air, prepared to shuffle back to his own room when he hears it again. A choked sob hidden between the pitter patter of drops slamming against the glass.

He’s more insistent this time when he calls your name and pairs it with a soft knock against the wood of your door.

The noise seems to give you a spook because he swears you let out a high pitched ‘EEK’ in your surprise. There’s no additional verbal answer so he takes his chances on turning the knob and poking his head inside.

“Y/N? It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s Namjoon,” he reassures.

He can’t see a thing, the room is pure darkness. The streetlights outside have gone down with the rest of the power grid so he can’t tell if you’re hurt or might need help.

“Joonie?” There’s a soft voice coming from where he knows the bed is, muffled and timid.

“Yeah, can I come in?” he asks.

“Yeah,” comes an answer, meek and nearly whispered.

He hadn’t come into this room since you unpacked so he’s careful to take small, careful steps towards the bed, nearly bent in half with his arms out to feel for any furniture you might have moved into the path. He taps the bed tentatively when he finally reaches it, feeling long limbs under his palm.

He shyly takes his hands off you and makes his way towards the headboard, knees hitting the edge of the mattress as guidance. He reaches out again, expecting to find you but he only feels more blanket covered lumps.

“Are you hiding under the blanket?”

No words come but the hard shape under his palm moves in a nodding motion. He sinks down, kneeling onto the floor a little harder than he expected. Difficult to judge distance in the darkness.

“Can I pull the comforter down? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

The fabric moves under his touch until the feeling of goose down turns into silky hair. He moves his fingers down, grazing your ears until they reach your cheeks, damp and hot against his skin.

“Are you crying? What’s going on? Is moving away from home for the first time getting to you?” It definitely had for him at first. He’d go back to his parents’ house every night to have his mother’s cooking for dinner and only started spending the evenings at the apartment after his younger sister had mocked him about not being able to stay too far from his mother’s comfort.

You let out a shamed whine below him. “No…” He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll share more. “The thunder woke me up and then I tried to turn on the light but it wouldn’t work. And-”

Lightning interrupts you and as the room flashes in sudden light Namjoon sees your face for an instant. Your eyes are wide, laced with red from the tears but one thing he can tell for sure is that in that second- you’re absolutely terrified.

Your breath gets shaky and there’s a twitch in your hands where he can tell you struggle not to throw the blanket back over your head to escape.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re afraid of the storm, I get it.” His grip on you tightens when he feels you tremble as the thunder rolls behind.

“You can say it. It’s stupid to be scared of storms. I’m just a big weenie.”

“I’d never call you a weenie, Y/N. You know, my friend JK is afraid of microwaves. Runs out of the kitchen and hides across his apartment every time he needs to heat something up. He’s convinced they’re going to blow up and take him with them in the blast.”

You snort, which is followed by a loud slap of skin on skin that he can only assume is you covering your mouth in response to the noise that just escaped. He’s huffing out his own chuckle in response. Adorable.

“Okay, so what are you afraid of then Mr. Tough Guy?” You’re more combative now. He’ll take that over the fearful demeanor you had a minute ago.

“Me? Hmm, I don’t think there’s anything too unusual. I’m not super fond of spiders, I suppose?”

“Spiders? But Yoongi told me you’re obsessed with crabs. They’re basically water spiders. They walk similarly and they’ve even got more legs!” Oh, you’re heated now but you’ve hit him where it hurts.

“How dare you!” The offended gasp he lets out overtakes the drone of rain coming from outside. “Crabs are cute little friends. I have half a mind to walk out and leave you alone in this storm after that.” He fakes getting up but a small hand digs into the flesh of his bicep.

“Don’t! Please. I’m sorry, crabs are adorable, you’re right. I was just kidding. Don’t leave.” He can hear the fear engulfing your voice in your plea.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was just joking. I’ll stay as long as you need.” He didn’t mean to trigger your panic again, especially since he had just gotten you to calm down a bit.

“You might be here a while then, it doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.”

“No worries. Let me just get off my knees. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I spend all night bent like this.” He makes to switch to sitting on the floor but you stop him.

“Do you… uhm, want to lay on the bed? There’s more than enough room for two. I’m not like Rose, that bitch.”

“Are you sure? I can sit here, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You’d known each other barely 12 hours. He didn’t want to appear pushy in your vulnerable state. He’s enough of a gentleman to know to make space for the women in his life to ease themselves into his presence in a manner where they feel safe.

“Don’t worry. Yoongi told me enough about you for me to know you’re the least scary man on this planet. Only way you’d hurt me is if you fell on top of me, which I’ve been warned may happen more than I expect so be careful climbing in.” He feels you scooch over to the other side of the bed, leaving a wide open space for him to settle into.

There’s still some hesitation that weighs heavily in his limbs but when he sees how your body jumps when another bolt touches down and illuminates the room his resistance melts away. His movements are slow as he eases himself onto the mattress.

“Do you have enough space?” you ask.

If he’s being honest he’s certain half his body is teetering off the edge but he’s more concerned about overcrowding you. “I’m fine, don’t worry. You should try to sleep, you had a long day.”

You’re answering with a half hearted mumble and the room is overtaken with the battering of rain on the windows. Namjoon stays alert, hoping to feel your breathing even out to indicate that sleep has claimed you but it never comes.

“Are you still awake?” Your voice is barely a whisper and if he wasn’t specifically keeping an ear out, he would’ve missed it completely.

He turns onto his side, body now settled fully onto the bed with no risk of suddenly tumbling out with a wrong move. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Can we just talk for a bit? I think that’ll help me calm down.”

“Of course, as long as you don’t insult my little crustacean friends again.”

“Were you one of those kids that would do that shark chant? ‘Fish are friends, not food.’”

“Nah, Pixar and Bruce are wrong for that. Fish are food, crabs are friends.”

“You’ll have to give me a history lesson as to why kiddie Joonie came to that conclusion if Nemo wasn’t the inspiration.” There it is again, Joonie. Namjoon huffs out a little chuckle at hearing it, letting the nickname slip under it.

“Oh,” you gasp. “I’m so sorry, I should have asked before calling you that. Do you not like it? I’ll stick to your name. Or should I be using honorifics, oppa?”

Oh, he’ll have to unpack how his stomach flips with that last part but now isn’t the time for sudden self discoveries.

“No, no! Don’t worry, it’s cute. I just wasn’t expecting it. My friends usually stick to just Joon but you can get special roomie privileges.”

“I fear you’ll one day regret that. I’m going to be so annoying from now on.” He can hear how your words are blanketed in a mischievous teasing, and he believes you but won’t admit defeat that easily.

“You’ll have to give Tae a run for his money. If he pairs up with Jimin then they’re insufferable. Hobi is a saint for having them both under the same roof with him. You don’t know the guys yet but you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

It’s easy to imagine you already melding into his little group of misfits. He thinks back to dinner when you’d teased him about listening to that ‘girly’ song, and he knows he’ll soon be babysitting four wiley dongsaengs instead of three. Sometimes five when Jungkook manages to set Seokjin off. He doesn’t realize the smile that sets itself on his lips and it’s too dark for you to comment on it.

The bed shifts and your voice is suddenly closer, indicating you’d mirrored his movements and were now facing him.

“You talk about them a lot, your friends. Yoongi does too. You must all be really close.”

“We are, like brothers honestly. I have a younger sister but meeting Yoongi was the first time I felt like I had a hyung. He’s not much for declarations of affection but I love that dude.”

“He knows. You guys are all he talks about besides his music. He loves you, too. I can tell.” Namjoon never doubted that but it’s always nice to hear.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” It should be an innocent question but the silence that follows feels heavy and loaded.

“I did. My little brother. He was five. He spiked a bad fever one night and had to be rushed to the hospital. My father packed him up in the middle of the night while I slept. My mother woke me up at 4 am in hysterics. We drove to the emergency room and I watched my parents fall to the floor from across the room as the doctor told them he didn’t make it. I couldn’t hear what they said from that far away but it was obvious. I’m haunted by the sounds of the storm that was raging outside as the windows shaked around me. Acute bacterial meningitis.”

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “Don’t say you’re sorry. You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that. It doesn’t bring him back, nothing will. I’m just left with distant memories of what his laugh sounded like, and this stupid fear of storms that just reminds me of the day my family broke apart.” Your words are being spit vehemently, your throat clearly closing up as it tries to choke back sobs.

Namjoon’s arms reach out to scoop you into his chest where you lose it in earnest. You hide into the crook of his neck as he can feel your resolve break. Tears hit his skin but he says nothing. There is nothing to say, he knows. You need something to hold onto as you let the emotions run their course and that’s something he can be for you.

It’s not too long before you catch your breath, great big gasps helping your body to settle back into rhythm.

“God, I’m so sorry. Having a breakdown because of some rain, trauma dumping, having a full breakdown. I must be making a great first impression as a new roommate.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re able to let it out. Bottling all that up would cause more damage.”

“Who knew I was shacking up with a therapist. It’s the same thing my counselor told me.” You’re back to teasing and Namjoon lets out the tension in his muscles that he didn’t realize he was holding. Your giggles fade off into a comfortable silence. The rain is still loud against the glass but the trembling that shook yo uhas subsided.

“‘Joonie? Can you hold me until I fall asleep?” Your voice is shy, the request bold for someone you barely know but he agrees without apprehension.

He expects you to burrow back into his chest as you’re already nestled in from your impromptu need for comfort but you surprise him by turning around and slotting yourself against him, back pushing into his front.

“Need to sleep on my left side. You don’t mind, do you?” After your revelation, he’d give you the moon if you asked, some spooning was an easy favor to fulfill.

He simply hums in agreement not entirely trusting himself not to put his foot in his mouth at that moment. He allows you to push back until you’re comfortable and slings his arm over your waist, letting his hand hang limp over your abdomen, careful not to push any unspoken boundaries.

You take it upon yourself to scoop his arm up and hold it close to you. Namjoon closes his fingers into a fist to avoid any accidental groping since his hand now rests on your chest, just above your breasts. He can feel the curve of them against his wrist, the mounds pressing into his forearm.

No! He needs to send his mind elsewhere. He tries to focus on the patter of the drops on the window. Pit pat. Would a roll of thunder fit into any of the songs he’s currently working on? What about the clap where the beat could drop? Anything to distract him from how warm you are beside him. The humidity of the storm only aggravates the heat that seeps through his skin, making it clammy and nearly wet. You, wet against him… NO! The heat is pooling at his crotch, the pressure rising when his blood is sent southward to fill a chub in his boxers. No, stop!

He’s trying desperately to inch his pelvis away from where your ass was resting against him. The universe is truly out for his demise because another round of lightning and thunder sends you jumping, forcefully seeking the hardness of his body against you. The grip on his arm turns vicious, your nails digging into his skin and your rear flies backwards in search of a seat and finds an unexpected obstacle.

Namjoon isn’t sure which sound rings louder. The gasp you let out at your discovery or his moan as his hips involuntarily thrust up against your ass. He doesn’t dare even breathe. What were you thinking? That your new roommate was a giant pervert? That he was taking advantage of the situation when all you asked for was some comfort in a time of need? Would you tell Yoongi? His hyung might be smaller than him but he has no doubt the older man could and would beat his ass into next week for this.

He seems to be the only one spiraling into a panic because instead of screaming and shoving him out of bed you only push back again. Your movements are tentative, slowly adding pressure and grinding your ass in circles against him as if trying to memorize the shape of him against your cheeks.

He slips his arm out of your grasp to bring his hand against your hip, pushing it down to pin you into the mattress and stop the maddening teasing.

“Y/N...” His voice comes out rough in between his teeth, a clear warning.

“Are you-?” You don’t need to finish your sentence with words, opting instead to push against his hold and roll your hips backwards again to feel the length behind you.

“I definitely am now since you can’t lie still. I’m trying to comfort you right now, so I am asking very politely to please have some mercy on me and go to sleep.”

For a second, Namjoon thinks he may have been too harsh.You’re quiet against him and he hopes he hasn’t triggered another round of distress with his tone.

The worries ebb when he feels your hand sneak behind to cup where his dick pushing against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes close when the pressure against the head sends little jolts of electricity flying through his body, a loud moan accompanying them.

“What if this is the comfort I need right now? Will you give it to me?” There’s a confidence in your voice now that had been missing when the sun went down. Namjoon is glad to hear it even if it beckons his doom.

He tries his best not to move, simply letting you tease along his length, your fingers wrapped around his cock through the thin fabric barrier. The drag is dry and nearly painful but he still twitches and wets a patch when your hand comes to squeeze at the head at every stroke.

You seem to take the lack of fighting back on his part as encouragement, and you push at the waistband to finally get under his boxers and meet the feverish skin hiding under them. He helps you reach your goal by shimmying the fabric down and under his balls, freeing his cock to let you handle it as you wish.

Your hand disappears for a second only to come back wet with spit and making the first tug of skin on skin both tortuous and heavenly. He can’t help but meet your fist with a thrust, precum dripping into your hand and easing the next strokes.

You’re showing your impatience when you grab his hand from your hip to aim it towards the waistband of your own underwear. You let him figure out the rest and go back to focus on jerking him off, a little harder this time as your hips roll against thin air.

He doesn’t keep you waiting too long, slipping his hand into your panties, realizing you’ve also opted out of sleeping with bottoms. His fingers plunge low and he’s surprised at how wet you are.

“All this just from rubbing against my dick a little bit?”

“No, I’ve been wet since you pulled me into your arms. Stupid thick biceps and big tits. Figured you’d notice it wasn’t just my eyes that were leaking.” Your words come staccato while your hips desperately try to chase his fingers.

He gives you what you seek and dips his middle finger into your heat. Your muscles contract around him, hot and so wet.

“Fuck, more,” you beg. You’re doing your best to clench around him but there’s not enough to bring relief.

“Impatient.” He wants this to last. He’s barely just gotten his hands on you after all the tension of the day finally snapping. He wants to savor it but you seem to have other plans.

“Namjoon, if you don’t start fingering me properly I’ll kick you out of this bed and do it myself.”

In any other situation he’d probably call that bluff, but he doesn’t want to risk you going through with it. He adds a second finger to your core and gets to work on a punishing rhythm. He uses the angle to his advantage and digs the heel of his palm against your clit to grind onto it with every thrust of his hand.

Your threats devolve into mewls. You’re trying to keep up your own pace against his dick but your grasp is loosening and losing rhythm. Hedoesn’t care. It allows him to focus on making you lose your mind, but you don’t seem to agree with the imbalance because you’re tugging him closer to you, tip bumping into the cotton of your panties. The need overtakes you and you’re ripping his fingers out of your pussy, letting it clench around nothing and mourning the loss. Your legs clamp shut to allow you to reach around and pull the fabric away from your entrance. You push back against his cock, trying to guide him through the darkness.

“In. Want you inside.” Your words aren’t quite begging but Namjoon can hear the plea clearlyin your voice.

“Fuck, Y/N. I should stretch you out more. I don’t think you should take it like this.” He knows he’s above average and he’s unsure that between the darkness and your horny haze you've realized quite what you’re up against in the short span of the mutual masturbation session that’s happened.

“I felt it. I know you’ve got a big dick. I don’t care. Fuck. Me.”

He hesitates to argue with you. He doesn’t want to hurt you but he can feel the warm wet heat enticing the head of his cock and it’s hard to ignore the call. He loses his battle and sinks himself into you. He brings his hand back to your hip and holds himself still as you shake through acclimating to his size.

“Oh god, fuck.” He can feel your pussy tightening around him, the pulses of your walls essentially jerking him off and it’s taking all his resistance not to start rocking his hips up to meet your ass.

“I-” He’s cut off as soon as he tries to start.

“You better not say ‘I told you so’ while you’re inside me or else you’ll never be again.” The possibility of this happening again shut him up pretty quickly.

He opts to try and ease you into the feeling, lets his hand trace along your skin, up to your torso. He peppers kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hand seeks out a breast under your shirt and gently takes it into his palm, massaging the flesh as his fingers tweak at the nipple.

He tries to imagine what it must look like pebbled between his thumb and index; the color of them in contrast to your skin. He’s overwhelmed with the urge to slip it between his teeth and test how hard he could nibble at it before you broke, but the current position makes it impossible and he doesn’t dare switch it now.

Your breathing becomes heavier at every pinch and twist. He can feel your chest heaving under his hand and you’re melting against him. The chokehold your pussy has on his cock also lets up a little, allowing you to rock back and forth seeking more friction.

“I’m ready.” Your voice calls him back. “You can move. Fuck me.” He starts slow and careful, long languid strokes out until only the head stays inside you, and back in with a smooth confident thrust; letting as much of his length fit as he can from this angle.

He lets his hand wander once he feels you matching his strokes, backing up to meet him at each push in. Your skin is damp under his palm and the sticky feeling would usually bother him, but he’s too enthralled by the little noises that you make with each movement.

Your hand chases after his, following where he cups at your breast, pinches at your nipple, and he notes the hitch in your breath when his large palm settles loosely at the base of your throat. He’ll have to file that one away for another day.

You eventually seem to grow frustrated with his teasing touches because you drag his hand back south and into your underwear. He spreads his fingers around where the two of you are joined. He can feel your arousal coat his cock and your pussy stretch around him, sucking him in at every stroke.

He brings his fingers up to finally give your neglected clit the attention it’s been craving. You can feel how it’s throbbing with desire. You don’t bother trying to suppress the moan that comes out in nearly a scream when Namjoon presses against your bundle of nerves with skillful pressure and maddening circles.

It’s still slow. Everything is infuriatingly slow but you can’t find your voice through the groans and gasps to ask for more, so you let him set his torturous pace and drown in the electricity coursing through your body.

You take up the mantle that he’d been forced to leave behind. You feel too good to ask to change positions but you mourn the lack of his other hand which is forced under him, unable to wreck the same havoc on your body as its twin. Your right hand travels to your torso, attempting to mimic his earlier teasing while your left holds onto his wrist between your legs to keep yourself grounded.

You melt into his touch, head lolling into the pillow. Namjoon takes advantage of your neck opening up. He finally gets to use his right arm to push his upper body enough to dip his head down where your shoulder meets your neck to attach his lips to your skin. The added feeling of his teeth biting down, paired with a hard suck and lick of his tongue sends you reeling. You push back harder, urging him to thrust in rougher, as deep as the position allows.

“So big, Joonie. Can feel you so deep.” You’re pushing his buttons and it works. You’re riling him up and he lets it happen. You sacrifice the feeling of his fingers on your clit to bring them up just above your pubic bone and push down hard making the head of his dick hit against the front of your walls. You know he can feel it push against his hand every time he hits home.

You know when he registered what’s happening because he’s pistoning into you with renewed vigor, each thrust stronger than the one before. The new pressure from his hand makes everything feel euphoric.

“Shit, Y/N. So fucking tight around me. You feel so good, sweetheart.” The praise falls from his lips without thought and the endearment slips through with ease but there’s no time to focus on it. You’re clenching around him, being brought to the edge.

Your hand replaces where his had been, fingers wild and frantic on your clit, pushing you towards your orgasm. It doesn’t take long to hit and your body goes rigid in his arms. Your muscles scream as they twitch and the wave radiates out from your core and washes over you to the tips of your limbs.

The shaking in your body subsides but the throes of pleasure still buzz under your skin from where Namjoon hasn’t slowed. He continues to push and pull his way into your body, keeping the tension alive.

“You sound so fucking hot when you cum. Feel so perfect around my cock.” No words come in reply to his, only mindless moans answer the praise. You want to tell him how good he feels inside you too, how you still need him so desperately.

“More!” You manage to gulp through the overwhelming feeling surrounding you. “Want to feel you deeper.”

His hips stutter in response, your words hit him in the pit of his stomach. He wants to give you more, whatever you want but he can’t go any further from this angle.

“Gonna have to move us around for that, okay?” His voice is muffled from where his mouth is still dug into the crook of your neck, breath heavy near your ear.

You’re nodding without giving it much thought. Whatever he wants, he can do anything he wants. You’d agree to anything if it meant getting more of the addictive feeling coursing through your veins.

His cock slips out of you and you barely have the time to whine at the loss that a yelp escapes you instead as you’re hauled up and around to land firmly on his lap, underwear being ripped away in the switch, Namjoon now spread beneath you. Your hands fly forward to balance yourself, knees planted on either side of his hips.

“Holy hell, I was kidding earlier with the tits comment but…” You let your hands finish the implication as they grab at the flesh of his chest, nails digging into his skin. “Can you flex for a second?”

His muscles tense under your touch and you can’t help the groan that slips out in response. His chest is rock hard now and you feel your body rise with the strength imbued in it. You let your hands drift downwards, nails dragging behind. You wonder if the marks will still be there tomorrow for you to see the damage you're leaving in the light of day.

You can feel each bump on his abdomen where the muscles bulge out and dip back in. You’re surprised to feel the smooth velvet tip of his cock hit your hand so quickly. You’re barely halfway down his abs and the realization of how big Namjoon actually is sinks in.

The previous position wouldn’t have had him remotely close to fully sheathed inside you. The anticipation of really feeling his entire length has you grinding down and sliding along him, trapping him between his stomach and your sopping folds.

He bucks up to meet the pressure, hands holding firm on your waist, following the pace you’ve set. He lets you roll on him, his sensitive head catching on your clit and every loop which elicits moans from both of you.

He’s sure he could cum from this alone, but he’s aching to feel you sink down on him entirely. There’s a desperate plea on the tip of his tongue, an encouragement for you to lead him back inside but he keeps quiet. He wants you to make the decision and go at the pace you need. Despite the shift in situation, Namjoon still feels the vulnerability you’re under.

His hand drifts up, letting fire spread along your skin. The electricity in the air isn’t only from the storm anymore. He’s gentle as he cups your breast, content when he can feel your chest arching forward to chase after the pressure of his touch. Your nipple pebbles despite the hot and humid air.

“Perfect,” he murmurs under his breath. He’s sure it’s low enough to stay a private confession but the low moans mixed with your thighs tightening against his hips reveal otherwise.

The praise urges you on, reigniting your movements. Namjoon almost fears you’re moving away, off from your seat on top of him. His hands are quick to reach back for yours; a silent imploration to stay but they’re unnecessary. The pressure on his chest where you anchor yourself grounds him. There’s a shake where your balance falters so you can reach beneath you and grab at his cock, holding it straight towards your core.

The darkness hadn’t bothered Namjoon until this moment. He’ll rue this day for his entire life for stealing the vision of your expression as you slowly sink down on his entire length for the first time. The whimpers that escape, as you take each inch further, are only teases compared to the satisfied groan that comes once you’re fully settled back in his lap. The entire situation is torture. The heat of the stifling summer night is nothing compared to the scorching embrace of your walls around him. There’s aftershocks of your muscles spazzing around him that pair with more moans while you acclimate to the feeling of him inside you.

Namjoon’s mouth is dry and his brain is empty. There’s a strong instinct to move, a twitch in his arms to use his strength to lift you up enough to have you slam back down but he resists.

He can hear your breathing even out, big gulps of air diminishing to a more normal rhythm. You’re fidgeting, torso lowering to come parallel to his until your breath hits his throat. He doesn’t even realize your hand had snaked away until it lands in his hair and you pull on the strands to allow your lips to stroke at the cartilage of his ear, a warm tickle accompanying your words.

“You’re so big, Joonie. Feel so full.” He knows it’s the sign he was waiting for when you end the compliment with a strong squeeze that he can feel through his entire body. All the restraint he had exhibited snaps.

It all happens at once. He reaches for a fistful of your hair to keep you still as he clumsily seeks for your lips with his own. The kiss is aggressive and too full of teeth clanking together at first. It eventually melts into something more salacious. Your lips are hot and slippery but Namjoon is aiming for more.

You’re too distracted to notice that his stance has changed. He jostles you as he plants his feet into your mattress to give him the best angle to properly pound into you. The first hard thrust is paired with a well timed bite of your lip which has you opening your mouth with a shout of pleasure. He takes advantage of the position to delve his tongue into a battle with yours, turning the dirty kiss into an even wetter mess.

Neither of you can hear the storm over the slaps of skin, low groans, and high whines from inside the room. “You hear how wet this pussy is for me? Sound so fucking pretty, bet it looks even better. We’ll have to do this again, right? So I can see you leaking over my cock properly.”

If you’re answering him it’s unintelligible in the mumbles melted into the moans that continue to spill out of you. He’s taking it as an agreement from the tightening of your core around him.

His legs eventually lower behind you, pushing you to straighten back up and work to keep up the faltering rhythm. The heat and late hour seeps into your bones but the exhaustion that lies at the edge of your consciousness is no match for the fire in your veins that feeds the lust inside you. Your hands reach behind you and grab onto meaty thighs. God, you’ll need to talk about those in the morning because you don’t have the energy to trigger another round tonight. Your head falls, back arching towards the sky. It gives Namjoon the opportunity to roam your body, soft strokes and harsh grasps.

“Come on, Joonie. What good are those big biceps for if you can’t fuck me harder?” The taunt works like magic to reinvigorate him. Large hands come back to your waist, palms digging hard into your body above your hip bones. His thumbs aim towards your core, pushing into the softness above your pelvis. It’s not as obvious as the first position on your side but he can definitely feel the shift under your skin where the pressure of his thrusting cock pushes against his fingers.

“Shit, Y/N, never felt pussy this good. My perfect girl. Are you close? Can you cum for me, baby?”

“Y-yeah, so close- fuck. You feel so good.” It wasn’t a lie, you’ve teetered on the edge for a while but you just needed a little extra push. Namjoon’s hold on you is strong enough to allow you to sneak a hand to where the two of you are joined. There’s only a flash of pleasure before your fingers are slapped away.

“Nuh uh, my job. If you want to be touched a certain way just ask for it. You’re a big girl, use your words.”

If he kept talking to you like that maybe you wouldn’t need the extra help after all but that’s an experiment for another day. “Please, Joonie, want to cum. Touch me.”

He dares to slow the pace, still upkeep the long hard strokes that hit deep inside you. “Is that the best you can do? You’re about to cum all over my cock and I’m still just Joonie? You’re not being very clear, you know. I’ve got my hands on you, I’m already touching. Be more precise. What do you want, princess?”

He’ll be the death of you, you can already tell you’ve set yourself up. Your words are coming out in choked sobs, your climax on the brink. “Please!” you exclaim, “Namjoon, please play with my clit and make me cum all over your big cock.”

He didn’t expect you to take the bait so strongly, but you asked so politely, who would he be to deny your request.

“Good girl. I’ll give you anything you ask for if you do it like that. Look all innocent but you’re just a desperate little thing, aren’t you?” His words are paired with increased speed. He pistons into you with such force that you swear you’re floating above him. The world falls away when his thumb finally comes to rub tantalizing circles around your nub, the movement a little clumsy form how wet it is between your thighs.

It doesn’t take much to reach elation. White light explodes behind your eyes making you believe the power may have returned for a second. There’s electricity living in your nerves that travel down your limbs. There’s a rawness in your throat you assume was birthed from the scream that still echoes around the room.

You catch your breath on a pile of loose limbs draped over your new roommate’s huge frame. Your muscles are spasming from the outside in. You can tell that Namjoon definitely feel it from how tense his muscles feel under your fingers. You purposefully constrict around him and the answering grunt confirms your suspicions.

It takes a second to gather enough strength to sit back up while keeping him snuggly inside you. You wish you could look into his eyes as you roll your hips over him. You know it’s not as stimulating as the hard thrusts from earlier but the sweet sounds you hear from under you seem to have him perfectly content.

“Fuck, you never stop surprising me but you really need to get off because I can’t last anymore.” There’s a tension in his tone, one that you’d hear from someone holding onto a loosening grip that could result in falling to their doom.

You let the nail from your index dig into his skin and leave a burning sensation behind as your scratch down the valley of his pecs, from his clavicle to his abdominals. “Good. Then my plan is working. Your turn to cum for me.”

“Oh, I will. The second you get off me, it’s torture to keep it in, so please-” It’s his turn to beg but you’re not as ready to give in to his demand this time around. You only double your efforts, rolling hips and tight squeezes.

“Go on, then. You wanted me to ask for what I want? Cum. I’m safe and I want you to cum inside me, Namjoon.”

There’s black magic in the way you say his name, it’s hypnotizing. Or maybe it’s the imaginary visual of what you’d look like splayed out with his cum seeping out of you that does it.

He brings his fingers back to your sensitive clit and the pressure is almost too much. You nearly beg him to give you a break but he interrupts you before you can start. “One more time, with me. If you want me to fill up that sweet pussy, you’ll have to milk it out of me.”

You can’t tell whether it’s the pressure on your clit or the dirty words from his mouth, but the wave of pleasure comes back with a mighty force and crashes through you again. You can feel your core tightening around him in spasms which triggers his own release. You can feel his cock spurting inside you, an extra layer of warmth seeping into you. You can’t hold yourself anymore and flop onto Namjoon, both of your breaths heavy and labored.

His hand strokes comfort onto your back. You don’t even mind how sweaty you both are, sticking to each other. “We should get cleaned up,” he suggests.

You dig your face into the crook of his neck in protest. “No. Tomorrow. Don’t want to move. You still feel good, don’t want you to pull out.” You purposefully twitch to make your point. His cock may be softening but it’s still firmly plugging you up. You both know you’ll regret it in the morning but you couldn’t care right now.

The exhaustion you both feel settles into contentment as sleep pulls you in. You both fall asleep without even noticing that the storm has also fallen into slumber.

Okay, so maybe Namjoon was a little dramatic about being abandoned because it’s only a week later when Yoongi is back in his old apartment from a weekend brunch date with his friends.

You and Jin are bonding in the kitchen. Yoongi can hear his boyfriend’s windshield wiper laugh mixed with your giggles that he’s always compared to a hyena. He expected the atmosphere to be a little awkward when he came in, both of the new roommates a little shy and fond of individual activities.

But when he let himself in earlier he found both his friends sharing the couch in the living room, each with a book in hand,which wasn’t surprising, but your feet perched on Namjoon’s lap, that was a little surprising.

He had let that slide easily enough. His suspicion returns simply from how much smiling Namjoon has been doing. Smiles wouldn’t be odd for most but Yoongi has heard that man’s music lately and he’s the definition of a Sad Boi™.

The pieces fall into place when you bring in the plates and there’s lingering. From your fingers on Namjoon’s when you exchange the dish to his eyes on your ass when you turn away. Yoongi stares Namjoon down, deadpan. His friend’s eyes widen in panic once he realizes he’s been caught. Yoongi’s always been able to read him like a book.

“You motherfucker,” Yoongi spats at him just as you reenter the room.

“Now now, Yoongles. Do we need to call Dr. Lee to go through your mommy issues again? We’ve already established I’m not your mother.” You take a seat on Namjoon’s lap as if to make a point. “Besides, there’s only one person that gets to call me mommy now.” The look you and Namjoon share might be the final drop that makes him go dig for his old psych’s number that night.

#kim namjoon fic #namjoon fic #knj fic #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon smut #namjoon fanfic #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #rm fic #rm fanfic #rm x reader #rm x you #bts fic #bts fanfic #rm smut #bts smut

[taetheists]

an unexpected guest comes to question another guest, but they are still bickering brothers

#bts #btsgifs #taegikook #micdropnet #esmetracks #shirleytothesea #heyryen #usersky #trackofthesoul #dailybangtan #dailybts #userbangtan #cyphernet #dailydaegu #kvanity #annietrack #tusercelia #boongietrack #usermaggie #usersan #bangtanedit #btsedit #*samstuff #*gifs

[sugarwithtea]

bounty (m) | myg [teaser]

bounty (noun) : a sum paid for killing or capturing a person. if there was one person who annoyed you the most, it was min yoongi. but what happens when he calls you after escaping someone hired to end him? a dance, which ends in a surprising way.

pairing ; gang leader!yoongi x thug!reader (f)

rating/genre ; m (18+)//smut, angst (minor), enemies to ???

wc ; for the teaser - 470 // for the fic - 4k+

warnings for the teaser ; guns, swearing. for the fic ; explicit smut in public, knives, mentions of death, gore, murder (main characters) and many more!

note ; tread with caution ⚠️ the teaser is mild but the fic won't be (it will be very dark!) also, happy d-day dropping everyone hehe!! thanks to @cowboylikeyoongi for helping me with smth very major!!!! please let me know if you wanna join the taglist for this!

masterlist | taglist

You stand straighter, putting your hands on your waist and chewing the end of the cigarette in your mouth. You survey the area with squinted eyes, pushing your thin jacket behind to reveal your black tee and the gun, with which your finger toys.

You had heard of this place, and how there was a big bounty on the leader of the gang who ran the place. They were dogs, fiercer than wolves, but still fucking cowards. Your boss had asked you to stay clear of the massacre, something about leaving the lowly on his own. And you obeyed, for Min Yoongi was a man who riled you up so much, that anger always lived on your nose – and the tip of your tongue.

The way you were called into the yard, you assume whoever tried to get the meaningless bounty had failed. You shake your shoulders in amusement, and take another drag from your cigarette, kicking the dust at your feet. One more minute, and if he doesn't show up you are getting the fuck out of here.

It's as if the universe heard your thought and plotted against you returning because as soon as you turn back towards the raging fire, a hand wraps itself around your neck and pulls you behind. You let out a loud snort of amusement around the cigarette as you are pulled into a hard chest, his arm around your neck and breath on top of your ear. You quickly pull your cigarette out with one of your hands and exhale, letting the smoke fog you.

As soon as you register his breath, a hard thing pokes you on the base of your throat, and you look down to see the muzzle of his gun at your throat, pressing into your skin. His arm is right above it, and you see the way his fingers wrap around the trigger guard, away from the actual trigger. You scoff at it – still a coward.

He pushes the muzzle deeper into your skin, and you feel his chest going up and down, as his hand around your neck brings you so near him, that you feel him mold against you. You arch an eyebrow and tilt your head, a laugh leaving your lips.

"Hello to you too, Yoongi.'' He hated it when you, or anyone called him Yoongi, so you did just that. He doesn't want to be related to his family, or have a semblance of their relationship with him. And there was one thing that could erase it – his name. So he changed it to Agust D.

"You came?" His voice is gruff against your ear, and you don't miss how deep it is, just like the ocean. You take a deep breath and exhale, before speaking again with a delayed snort.

"You called?"

if you wanna join the taglist for this specific fic then lmk via comments :)) (permanent taglist peeps will be tagged in the reblogs for this one hehe 😉)

feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated! so please lmk your thoughts :))

© sugarwithtea. do not repost.

#yoongi #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi angst #suga angst #min yoongi #bts smut #bts angst #myg #agust d #btswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bangtantheatrenet #micdropnet #bangtanbathhouse #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi mafia

[cowboylikeyoongi]

» yoongi ✦ give me something that'll haunt me.

for @m-yg93 cr. 0613data

#min yoongi #yoongi #suga #micdropnet #cyphernet #dailybts #userbangtan #btsedit #bts gif #bts suga #bts yoongi #mine ♡ #freyaslove #userkelli #annietrack #usersky #userdinnerthing #useremmeline #userjeonjcngkook #heyginkgo #*gently holds little meow meow* i love yoongles boongles sm #this is my comeback from exam season bubs <3 #anygay the grip that blonde yoongi has on my mind #hands + arms enthusiasts this one's for y'all

[raplinesmoon]

원샷! (One-shot!) - MYG x F!Reader

pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader genre(s): crack, fluff, brief smut au(s): medical AU, idiots-to-lovers (not quite yet) word count: 3.1k warnings: cynical Yoongi, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, Yoongi has no filter, 20,000 different ways to say sperm, unhinged behaviour from OC and Yoongi, probably HIPAA non-compliance, intoxication, marijuana use, an almost-kiss, did I mention they're idiots (affectionate), mentions divorce (OC's parents), bi-panic from Yoongi, implied masturbation (m) rating: 18+

summary: Yoongi's friendship with you is the one bright spot in his life. So when you tell him you're ready to have a baby, he thinks this will finally be his shot to take your friendship to the next level. Cue a few shots of soju, and one insemination party, and Yoongi suddenly has a huge problem on his hands.

a/n: Old rom-coms (aka pre-2012) are the best. I was rewatching The Switch the other day and felt a burst of inspo to write this cute little au! This will probably be a oneshot (get it?) for now, but never say never! I hope you enjoy!

In his somewhat short career of practicing medicine, Yoongi had become an expert people-watcher, you could say. For instance, he’d been privy to the same morning commute as hundreds of other strangers in the city for the past five or so years. In fact, he was so used to seeing their faces that they didn’t seem like strangers at all. There was the old man who rode in the same car he did, always clutching what seemed to be a bouquet of flowers or a baked good. Maybe it was for his wife. Or his mistress. 

Yoongi puckers his lips sourly at the unsavory thought, shuddering at how cynical he’d become. Instead, he turns his attention to the girl sitting in the corner. She had to be in middle school, he thought. Only middle school could put that despondent look on the face of someone so young. Maybe she’d been jilted by a crush. Or more likely, she’d gotten a B on her math test and was about to walk into a lecture from her parents the moment she came home from school today. Yoongi knew the feeling all too well.

You see, it was Yoongi's job to be in the business of people. Being a doctor meant that he dealt with people all day long. They flitted in and out of his life like the flies that buzzed past his ears every time he entered the subway. And he always surprised himself with how much he could learn about them in a single meeting, or before they even walked into the room. 

Which is why nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him when he walked into the hospital cafeteria that morning. Sweat streamed down his back in rivulets from the summer heat, drenching his scrubs. And yet, he still insisted on grabbing a piping cup of black coffee from the drinks counter.

“It keeps me awake for longer,” he grumbled when the man at the checkout counter shot him a quizzical look.

His eyes scan the crowded array of chairs and tables outside the café, looking for the one person who could perk up the start to another grueling work day, even more than his cup of coffee was capable of. 

You wave to him enthusiastically from the crowd, bouncing up and down like a child waiting for a lollipop. It was probably from all the kids you hung around with all day. Peds was no joke, and Yoongi admired your ability to keep a bright, starry-eyed attitude when his own stomach turned at the thought of sick children.

“Please don’t tell me you saw another man with flowers who might be cheating on his wife,” you raise an eyebrow at the scowl on his face as he approaches the table. “Either that or today’s the day you finally regret not getting an iced coffee.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, annoyed yet also mildly amused by your teasing.

“I told you, it–”

“It keeps you awake for longer, I know, I know,” you beam at him.

“It’s actually neither of those things,” he groans. “Today it was the old lady in the elevator who asked me what year of high school I was in.”

“That’s what you get for having a stupidly perfect face,” you quip, waving your fork at him. “You know Seungkwan from Derm would freak if he knew you only washed your face with bar soap?!”

Although you chuckle at your own joke, Yoongi can’t help the way his heart twists at your words, resisting the heat that rises to his cheeks when you compliment his face. But before he can think about it too long, he falters, noticing that your attention is buried deep within your pile of scrambled eggs, and you’re unable to look him in the eyes.

“You know, Seungkwan from Derm would also tell you that frowning causes premature wrinkles, ___,” Yoongi responds, and you lift your head up, eyebrows furrowed in worry. His hand twitches, and he fights the urge to reach out and squeeze your hand to reassure you everything will be alright.

You finally reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper.

“Look at these labs,” you push the paper towards him. “What do they say to you?”

Yoongi stares intently at the paper, trying to piece together this patient’s story, despite you failing to provide any helpful demographic information.

“Iron count, a full blood panel, HcG, any infectious diseases, genetic markers—” Yoongi pauses when he realizes. “You’ve got a pregnant kid on your hands?”

The paper is snatched from his hands before he can finish, your face redder than a tomato.

“No silly, it’s not a kid. I-it’s me. Those are my levels. Do you think they look okay?”

Yoongi can’t prevent his jaw from dropping wide open. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, staring blankly while you blink your eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“You’re having a baby?” he chokes out. The sick, twisty feeling in his stomach has returned, only this time it's a thousand times worse.

“Not yet. But I’m trying,” you admit sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“So what, you want me to have sex with you?” Yoongi blurts out before he can stop himself, and he immediately sees you freeze. Sometimes he really hated that he had no filter when it came to his thoughts. That, combined with the fact that he’d had a crush on you since you nearly knocked him over with your Heelies during his first week of work, and Yoongi had found himself in a sticky situation more often than not.

“No!” you immediately blurt out, growing more flustered when Yoongi frowns. “Not that, I mean–, that’s totally beside the point, completely irrelevant to my clinical question, I, I– I’m using a sperm donor okay!”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, you’ve rendered Yoongi completely speechless.

“Is this about Kihyun?” he finally asks. “Or Doyoung? You know, I know you haven’t had the best track record with relationships in the past, but jumping into having a baby with a random guy is definitely not the solution!”

“It’s not about them!” you sputter, unable to stop your voice from rising. “It’s about me, okay! My choice to be an independent woman, raising a child, who doesn’t need a man to help her at all! I get paid well, I have all the resources I could dream of, a strong support system. My life is in session!”

Yoongi has to bite back at chuckle at you quoting one of the various hospital brochures that decorated every reception desk and spare table. 

“So are you gonna help me find some jizz, or not?!” you finish, only to look around and realize nearly a dozen pairs of eyes are on you. Perhaps you’d said that last part a little too loudly.

“I-, I gotta go,” you whisper, slinging your bag over your shoulder and running as fast as you can out of the cafeteria, leaving a wistful Yoongi to ponder over the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to finish your breakfast.

You might have thought that breakfast was the end of your baby-making discussion, but judging by the way Yoongi cornered you immediately during the mid-afternoon patient lull, it seemed he hadn't.

“So you’re looking for, uh, semen,” he says, mortified when the charge nurse on your floor whips her head around to glare at him. He pulls you into an alcove by the windows, immediately realizing what a wrong move that was when he can smell the strawberry shampoo you’d used this morning, or count each one of your long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong with mine?” he asks innocently, before realizing he’d messed up yet again. The uncomfortable look on your face tells him as much.

“Listen, Yoongi, I’m sure you have great sperm, killer sperm even. Not in a murder-y way, you know, but like in a Darwinian kinda way. But we’re best friends, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“We don’t have to have sex, you know. I could just nut in a cup and hand it to you. I mean we’ve literally cleaned vomit off each other, how weird could this be?”

A strangled giggle erupts from your throat, and you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Yoongi knows you well enough to know your untapped anxiety is preventing you from saying what you really want.

“Okay, spit it out ___.”

“Well, no offense, Yoongi, but you’re kind of neurotic. And not to mention a little pessimistic, maybe even nihilistic…”

“Damn, ___. You could have just said you didn’t want my swimmers. No need to hit a man where it hurts.”

You smile, fondly recalling the time you two played for the hospital basketball team, only for Yoongi to suspend you when your pass had gone awry and smacked him straight in the balls.

“Oh please, you recovered just fine. And we still won the championship that year against the nurses.”

The smile Yoongi forces out of him is no match for the way his heart is breaking underneath. But he looks at you, eyes sparkling and so excited about the prospect of having a baby, and immediately sets his own feelings aside. He could do this. He was your best friend, and as your best friend, your happiness was his number one priority. 

“Okay, I’ll help.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” you crush him in a too-tight hug, his arms wrapping around you stiffly, before melting into it. Normally he would have pushed anyone else off by now, but you’d always been his exception to every rule he’d ever set for himself.

“So, what do you think about Hoseok from Finance?”

Yoongi freezes at the mention of the happy-go-lucky man with the heart-shaped smile and how he could immediately charm the pants off of anyone within his vicinity.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles, walking away.

“Oh come on, why not? He has great fashion sense, can pull off any hair color, the nurses say he can dance well… Yoongi, YOONGI!”

After a tumultuous few months, which involved a rather precarious incident in which Yoongi had nearly gotten fired when he locked Taehyung, a cardiology fellow, in the bathroom after he’d gotten a bit too handsy with you at a party, Yoongi opens his apartment door one Saturday morning to find a comically large pink envelope on the outside.

The dozens of sperm-shaped balloons that fall out of the card have him jolting in surprise, and he looks up to find his across-the-hall neighbours, a mom and her daughter, staring at him dumbfoundedly, before swiftly slamming their door shut in his face.

I’m Getting Pregnant… And You’re Invited, the garish pink letters on the invitation read, and Yoongi wants to tell the stupid card to go shove all the balloons up its ass when he realizes in horror that you’d finally decided on someone. Without him.

Standing in the hallway with the huge mess around him, Yoongi wonders how despite changing people’s lives every day, he’d always managed to fall behind when it came to his own.

. . .

The obnoxious EDM bumping in your apartment is enough to make Yoongi’s ears bleed. Tugging at his hoodie, his eyes scan the crowd of people, recognizing more than a few people from the hospital. Frowning, he tries to run each one of them through his mind, wondering if you’d gone with Hoseok from Finance after all.

“Dr. Min!” Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink when Jimin from HR comes up to him, landing him a good-natured slap on the back. “You made it!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jimin?” Yoongi deadpans. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this shit? I thought all this was supposed to be protected under HIPAA!”

“We’re all HIPAA-compliant here, Yoongi, except you,” Jimin chortles, before smirking at him. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the only one in your department who hasn’t submitted their training modules yet.”

“I-, I’ve been busy! You know, actually taking care of patients and stuff.” Yoongi knows Jimin is joking, but somehow still feels the need to defend himself. 

“I’m sensing some negative energy from you, Yoongi,” Jimin drawls, and Yoongi is sure he has to be drunk, waving what looks like a turkey baster in his face. “This is ___’s moment! We should all be happy for her!”

“Oh I’m sooo happy,” Yoongi grumbles, disappearing into the crowd to look for you.

“Dr. Min!” another voice calls out to him. “Wanna take a hit?”

Yoongi turns to see Jungkook, one of the medical students rotating in his unit, offering him a lit joint.

“Put that damn thing away, Jeon!” Yoongi scolds him, before backtracking. “On second thought, gimme that.”

All Jungkook can do is blink in surprise when Yoongi takes a drag of the joint, immediately feeling his irate energy subside just a tiny bit. Still, he was antsy. Where were you?

Yoongi takes another few hits, downs a few shots of soju and he’s overcome with the munchies. Reaching for the hummus and pita chips, he groans when the dip plops down, staining his pristine white hoodie. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” another disembodied voice calls out to him. Yoongi looks up at the sound, and is immediately taken aback.

Yoongi’s sure he’d never seen this dude at the hospital before. He was like, freakishly pretty. Tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders, and pink lips. He blinks, trying not to panic at the attractive man swiping the stain off his shirt.

“Yoongi!” you appear out of nowhere, wrapping him in another crushing hug. “I see you’ve met Seokjin.”

“I’m the donor,” the man called Seokjin reaches a hand out for him to shake, offering a blinding smile.

Fuck. Of course this stupidly attractive man was your sperm donor. Of course you’d want to have his baby. He was literally perfect. You probably had a crush on him. Hell, Yoongi kind of had a crush on him. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you drunkenly lean on Yoongi for support. “You two have fun talking though!”

“___’s great,” Seokjin grins. “Super nice. Pretty hot too.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “I mean no offense, a guy like you, you could probably have anyone.”

“Ahh yeah,” Seokjin ruffles his hair, and Yoongi grits his teeth at how he still manages to look perfect doing that. “Money’s tight these days. A PhD in astrophysics at Harvard doesn’t exactly come cheap.”

Before Yoongi can make another smart comment, Seokjin is whisked away by Jimin and Hoseok from finance, the men slapping him on the back, hollering that it’s time to do the deed. He sees you disappear into your own room nervously, and can’t help himself from following you.

“Everything okay, ___?”

“NO!” you’re nearly bouncing off the walls. And there’s no kids to entertain in sight. “I’m freaking out!”

Yoongi’s next to you in seconds, taking you in his arms and letting your head lean against his shoulder. He’d discovered how much it calmed you down after one drunken night out where you’d basically recalled your childhood trauma from your parents’ divorce.

“Do you think I’m crazy, Yoongi? I want this so bad, but maybe this is the wrong way to go about it.”

“I think you want a family, ___. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’ll be here every step of the way. Uncle Yoongi to the rescue.”

You giggle at his words, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You do act like a total dad.”

There’s a brief pause, silence falling in between you two. Your eyes peer into Yoongi’s and for a moment, he could swear you lean in, the shiny pink gloss on your lips sparkling in the dim light—-

Only to be interrupted by Jungkook bursting into the room, grabbing your hand and telling you its finally time.

One shot, Yoongi had promised himself. Only now he’s ten shots of soju deep and hiding in the fucking bathroom while the party rages on outside. The colors on the wall blend into each other, and Yoongi’s head throbs trying to figure out what he’s looking at. He smiles to himself when he sees its your meticulous pregnancy planning chart, filled with labs and calendars and lists of medications.

Lifting himself up off the floor, he stumbles, bracing himself against the toilet. He was about to hurl. In his stupor he hears something clatter, off to the side.

“Is someone in there?” the nervous voice of Kim Namjoon, one of the hospital’s talented surgeons, calls out from the other end. “I have to pee!”

Namjoon’s voice breaks Yoongi out of his daze, and he looks at the object lying on the floor.

Cum. A whole bucket’s worth of it, it looked like. The creamy white substance now lies swirling in your toilet bowl, and he feels his heart drop to his ass when he realizes it’s Seokjin’s. Oh fuck! It was Seokjin’s sample. Aka the sample you were supposed to shoot up in mere moments, to have the baby you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Yoongi tugs at his hair, wanting to scream at himself for ruining your plans, all because of his own stupidity. You’d be so mad at him. You’d probably yell at him in front of the entire hospital, hands on your hips, and your face would go all red.

He’s horrified when his dick twitches to life at the image of you cursing him out. How was it his fault that you were so hot and he was idiotically attracted to you?

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Yoongi looks down again, caught in a face-off with Min. Jr. This was a very big problem with a very simple solution.

The pounding in his head continues as Yoongi drops his pants, getting right to work.

. . .

Thankfully, Yoongi doesn’t remember much about the night of your party. He thinks it’s a blessing, at least until you pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria a couple of weeks later.

Something about you is different, he thinks. You’d always been pretty but now you’re stunning, practically glowing from the inside out. He wonders if it has anything to do with stupidly handsome Seokjin when you tap him on the shoulder.

“It worked!” you blurt out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m pregnant!”

Suddenly, it all comes back to Yoongi. His jealousy over Seokjin, the two of you nearly kissing in your room, the cup spilling into the toilet, the way Yoongi came with your name on his lips.

Shit.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

#bts #micdropnet #bangtanbathhouse #kvanity #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fics #yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi x you #suga x you #yoongi imagine #yoongi fic #suga imagine #suga fic #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #yoongi imagines #yoongi fics

[agusvt]

what is it exactly that's been restricting us?

Haegeum by Agust D for @snoozeagustd @cowboylikeyoongi @tangy-tangerine

#yoongi #usersky #heyryen #heyginkgo #useremmeline #annietrack #trackofthesoul #shirleytothesea #useromy #usernix #userkosmos #bangtanoasis #micdropnet #agust d #d-day #min yoongi #armysource #yoongi gifs #bts #bts gifs #haegeum #agust d haegeum #bts gif #freya:gfx #.bts #bts.gif

[magicshopaholic]

Moving On (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: BTS performs in Amsterdam and Namjoon invites you to the afterparty.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Angst, smut

Word count: 8.2K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, angst, sex, nudity, making out, fingering, cumming, arguing,

A/N: Takes place a little over a month after Final Destination.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2,  @margopinkerton, @faearchives,  @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @sumzysworld, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "where does the good go" by tegan and sara

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

Joon [13:45] Did you get the email from Big Hit?

Kaya [13:50] Yes

Joon [13:51] The number at the end is their London office. They’ve been briefed already and have additional security available for all European locations.

Kaya [13:54] Okay

There’s a break in the chat here. Kaya stares at the time stamp, trying to picture him scrambling to find something else to say.

Joon [14:15] The company managed to track down the account that uploaded the video. Account has been taken down and they’ve sued for invasion of privacy.

Kaya [14:20] Okay 

Joon [14:22] They’ve also offered to add damages to the suit, in case we want that. Do you?

Kaya [14:25] Not really

Joon [14:26] Okay then

Another break. Kaya scans the time stamps again, even though she’s memorised it by now. She remembers the three dots indicating him typing, seeing them appear and disappear over and over again. 

Joon [14:40] How are you?

Kaya [14:45] Fine

Joon [14:46] How‘s work?

Kaya [14:48] Fine

Joon [14:50] Kaya I’m trying

Kaya [14:51] Class starting, got to go

He hadn’t responded and she hadn’t expected him to. Four days post break-up hadn’t been nearly long enough for her to let go of her anger but now, four weeks in, it’s only been replaced with an equal amount of sadness and longing.

Every conversation has been exactly this terse and abrupt, the last one being a week ago. It had appeared when she’d been teaching an elective class and it had taken every ounce of her will to not check it until the class ended. As it turned out, she couldn’t even think of a decent response to it.

“How can he possibly think of asking me this?” Kaya mutters, earphones in as she walks home. It’s dusk, a gorgeous time of the day, but she holds no appreciation for it right now.

“Wouldn’t it be worse if he didn’t ask?” Dilara asks reasonably. She’s in her car by the sound of it, a low hum audible of whichever fancy car of hers she’s decided to take out today.

Kaya swallows, pondering this. It might be, but it doesn’t address the problem she’s too embarrassed to voice out loud: it should be harder for him to ask. The thought that he might not be taking this break-up as hard as she is kills something inside of her, as if she’d misunderstood everything in the last three years. 

Her strategy to save herself from hearing the truth had been to distance herself from everyone, including Yoongi, who had texted her out of the blue one day to ask her if she was okay (she hadn’t responded); Seokjin, who seemed to skirt the topic altogether and sounded as though he was speaking to someone very sick; and especially Dilara, who Kaya knew would be the only one with the capacity to ask insightful questions that she herself was too afraid to.

“It’s just… strange,” is all she can manage. “He hopped on a flight, shot a few emails, came over and broke up with me and then went right back to his schedule, all in one day. And now he's inviting me to a party?"

“After-party, so it won’t be, like… crazy,” Dilara clarifies. “And the concert before it.” 

“I’m definitely not going to his concert.”

“Of course not,” she agrees breezily. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But the party… I mean, it’s a good thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t want you to be strangers.”

Kaya slows down as she approaches the river. She’s taken the long route home today - anything to prolong the commute before another night in her tainted apartment with memories on every surface.

“I don’t know if I want to see him.” I don’t know if I can. “He wants to see me, though, apparently,” she states after a moment.

Dilara doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I mean -“ She begins before pausing, then trying again. “I’m sure it’s going to be torture for him to see you. But even that’s better than not seeing you.”

Kaya doesn’t even realise she’d been holding her breath; she exhales as slowly as possible so as to not make a sound, both at Dilara’s words as well as her answering the unasked question.

She doesn’t respond immediately, though. Now that they’re down this route of addressing concerns she’s been harbouring in her heart for weeks, Kaya feels the rest of them on the verge of tumbling out of her mouth.

"You've seen him a bit these last couple of months,” she ventures, lowering her voice and leaning backwards against the railing overlooking the river. “Does it seem like he misses me at all?"

Dilara hums, a little too knowingly for Kaya’s liking. “Of course, he does. He’s not the most expressive when it comes to his feelings but aside from Tae last year, I don't think I've met a more miserable person."

Kaya waits for the swell of happiness or relief at this news, but all it brings with it is a new wave of anger and frustration.

“Thanks.”

"Look, speaking from experience, it's not easy seeing your ex after a difficult break-up,” says Dilara, sighing. “But sometimes you don't realise just how much you needed to see them until you see them, even if it's just to gain some closure."

Closure. It sounds… final. Kaya can’t picture it, being virtual strangers eventually, just bits of each other’s past. Ex-boyfriend, girl of his dreams, the one that got away. She hates all those words because they just don’t apply, not really. They can’t.

She closes her eyes and presses the heel of her palms into them to intercept the wetness forming, not caring that Dilara is still on the other end of the line. She and Namjoon had stood right here, years ago, living in the bliss of a new couple in fresh love. He’d brought her a bunch of tiny yellow flowers from the park, part-cheesy and part-genuine, eyes twinkling and dimples soft.

Kaya squeezes her eyes shut at the memory, terrified at how the edges of it are already blurring. 

“I don’t think I’ll go,” she murmurs, opening her eyes to stare at the ground. “I can’t.” 

“Are you sure?” Dilara sounds slightly surprised.

“Yeah. Two days from now is… it’s too soon. I’ll either cry or yell or… I don’t know. It’s too hard.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a few seconds. “Okay. If you’re sure. Let me know if you want to get together on Sunday,” she adds. “Brunch or something.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

—

The next day, Kaya is in the library again, grading papers and wishing she could go back to being a grad student who’s biggest problem was a pop quiz. She’s deliberately chosen a table at the back, away from where the students generally sit, which is why she looks up in surprise when someone comes to her table.

“H-hi, Kaya.” The student waves rests one hand on the back of an empty hair and waves hesitantly with the other.

“Um… hi.” Kaya tries not to frown too conspicuously, for she’s sure she knows this girl. 

Svetlana. Savannah. 

“Elena, right?”

“Yeah,” she answers with a nervous smile. “Um… are you busy?”

Kaya glances at the stacks of papers, books and laptop on the table. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Okay. Well… I just wanted to say hi.”

Kaya nods awkwardly and forces a small smile on her face. “Hi.”

Elena nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looks like she’s about to leave but at the last moment, sits down at the table. Kaya feels her smile fade for she really, really wants to be alone right now.

“How - how are things going?” She sounds nervous - extremely so. She seems to be fidgeting slightly and constantly touching her hair. 

“Great,” says Kaya shortly, going back to her paper and hoping she’ll take the hint. “You?”

“Not bad, overall. I guess. Classes are hard and mid-terms are coming up as well…” Elena trails off. “Any plans for the weekend?”

Trying not to sigh, Kaya shakes her head. “Not really. You?”

“Well… I’m going to a concert tomorrow,” she answers hurriedly, and it’s clear that she’s been waiting to divulge this information, oblivious to how Kaya’s heart stops. “It should be fun. Do - do you listen to BTS?”

An unexpected notification from this morning floats into her kind. BTS continues their Europe leg by arriving in Amsterdam, ready to kick off the summer in style!

“No,” she answers truthfully.

“Oh.” Elena is quiet for a moment. “They’re really… good.” 

There’s some awkward silence during which Kaya deliberately writes comments on the paper she’s grading, scratching the pen on the paper and wishing Elena would leave.

“It’ll be good to get out of campus. The people here are kind of intimidating. The parties are pretty wild, too,” she murmurs after a moment, sounding uncomfortable.

Kaya nods absently, uncharacteristically satisfied with the knowledge that she might be intimidating this unwanted guest. “Maybe you’re going to the wrong parties,” she offers.

Elena lets out a nervous laugh again. “Maybe. I never see you at them, though. There’s one, tonight, in the common room. Maybe you could come,” she suggests lightly. “Bring a friend or - or your boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she answers flatly, not looking up.

“You - oh.” There’s a note of surprise in her voice. “Oh,” she repeats, this time seemingly to herself. “Are you sure?” she blurts out.

Kaya’s eyes snap up to glare at her. “Pretty sure.”

Elena’s eyes widen. “Oh, of - of course,” she stutters. “Sorry, that - that was a stupid question. Sorry.” She swallows and looks at her lap.

Kaya closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, immediately feeling guilty for snapping at an innocent bystander in this situation. “Elena, I… I really need to get these papers done,” she tells her, her voice one of forced calm. “So…”

The blonde finally seems to understand and awkwardly stands up. “Okay. Um, see you around,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear again. 

Kaya nods as she leaves, Namjoon’s invitation swimming in her mind tantalisingly. She can’t ignore it anymore, the fact that they’re in the same city, her city. If she’s not wrong, he’ll do the concert tomorrow night, the group will probably stay the night and depart by Sunday afternoon or evening and she will probably never see him again.

She attempts to continue grading the paper she was working on when Elena interrupted, but when she finds herself reading the same stupid sentence for the fourth time without retaining anything, she begins packing up, ready to head home.

—

Joon [18:42] Hope to see you there tonight

Kaya, with a loss as to how to respond to this, simply did not. She can’t imagine he would be texting her during his concert, but she also knows he has before, if the situation was urgent enough to demand it. 

She straightens the black dress against her hips and tilts her head at her reflection. It’s a simple dress, plain black, form-fitting and reaching below her knees, but it’s quite possibly the most gorgeous, sexiest dress she owns. 

If she and Namjoon were together, she would have worn it tonight with no hesitation because it would have driven him insane. After weeks of being apart, seeing her in this dress would have rendered him incapable of staying in work mode without dirty texts, flirty touches and eyes from across the room undressing her. Even now, with a bare face, her hair tied into a loose bun and no footwear, the dress is a game-changer.

She gives herself a few moments to imagine this paradise, one that might have come true tonight had she never told him about the break-in. Then, she silently unzips the dress and climbs out of the black fabric pooled around her feet. Tucking it back into her closet, she looks for something else.

Dilara [18:50] In case you change your mind, sharing the location here [Location]

Dilara’s text had come minutes after Namjoon’s, and Kaya has to imagine it was a genuine coincidence. Although she’d replied to neither, it was the second text that caused her to change her mind - that, and the lingering fear that if she didn’t go today, she didn’t know how either of them would be able to maneuver a situation to see each other again.

The concert should end in a little over an hour. Her phone pings again and she groans, for she doesn’t think she can take any more of their unsubtle attempts at convincing her to go tonight. It’s not Namjoon or Dilara, though, but Adam Fischer, her thirty-something thesis advisor, asking if she wants to discuss the coming week’s class schedule tonight.

Kaya shakes her head as she types out a reply (Sorry, I can’t tonight. Will set up a meeting for first thing Monday if that’s okay?), a little rueful. Namjoon heavily disliked Adam, despite having no concrete reason for doing so. He’d always suspected Adam of having feelings for her, even though Adam hadn’t said or done anything to make her think he might. Part of her wonders if she could somehow ditch the party for this meeting and still make sure that the news travelled to Namjoon through the grapevine (Dilara), and if that would still piss him off even now.

She immediately cringes at the pettiness of it, however, sending her reply to Adam and heading into the shower.

The party is at the rooftop restaurant of the hotel next to the concert venue, and presumably where BTS is staying while in Amsterdam. It isn’t as crowded as she was anticipating, although the music is fairly loud. It looks more like a fancy houseparty, and even a few seconds in, Kaya can spot a handful of vaguely famous people in attendance. She looks around for a familiar face, preferably Dilara or Yoongi or one of the younger boys, wishing she’d called ahead and trying not to think about the fact that in spite of not RSVP-ing, her name was on the guest list.

She takes another hesitant step in and audibly sighs when she spots Taehyung, who, for reasons best known to himself, has accessorised his outfit with an ascot. He seems to be in an animated conversation with Jungkook, while standing in between them and facing ahead, with loose curls tumbling down her shoulders and looking slightly bored, is…

“Kaya!”

Dilara’s mouth forms her name over the music as she brushes past her boyfriend and his friend and hurries towards Kaya, looking both happy and relieved to see her. “You look hot!” she exclaims when she reaches her.

“Oh -” Kaya looks down self-consciously; she’d settled for a straight strapless top and jeans, unable to justify dressing sexier without seeming like she was trying too hard for her ex-boyfriend. “Thanks. And you look…” She frowns slightly at Dilara’s mini-dress and go-go boots, with a slightly out-of-place gold ring hanging around her neck. “... like Daphne Blake.”

Dilara’s face visibly falls. “I look like a cartoon character?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, a very pretty cartoon character,” she adds quickly. “Especially with the headband. But… why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Taehyung picked it - but I’m sure it’s not because of Daphne Blake.” Spotting Kaya’s confused expression, she shrugs sheepishly. “We got into an argument yesterday about who has better taste, so we decided to go shopping at The Nine Streets and pick each other’s outfits for tonight.”

Kaya raises her eyebrows, something seemingly clicking into place. “So the ascot is your doing?”

“M-hm.” She nods in satisfaction before her eyes widen. “Oh, hey! An ascot - like Fred!” She lets out a low whistle at this realisation and laughs, while Kaya nods knowingly, feeling the urge to smile for the first time in what feels like weeks. “Not planned but zero regrets. I wonder if Tae knows that - oh.”

Kaya cuts her off mid-sentence with a hug, suddenly immensely grateful for Dilara. She can’t remember the last time she’d let anyone into her life this much with the exception of Namjoon; but just maybe, when she’d been happy with him and her guard had been lowered, Dilara had slipped in without warning as well.

She tightens her arms around Kaya and rubs her back. “It’s good to see you, too,” she says, sounding part-surprised and part-delighted. “It’s been a while but I promise that we will still - oh, hey.” The change in tone is abrupt. “Incoming.”

By the way her voice immediately lowers, Kaya is sure she knows what Dilara is referring to. Her heart beating a mile a minute, she pulls away from the hug and turns as casually as she can.

Her first thought is that he looks thinner - visibly so. Well, he’s on tour, says a voice in her head but Kaya suspects that’s not the only reason, for he’d been on tour when he’d broken up with her as well.

His hair is a silvery blond, looking almost metallic; dressed simply in a black T-shirt and  jeans, he runs a hand through his hair so it falls gracefully around his face as he approaches her, his face unreadable.

“Hi,” he says, and it sounds like all the breath has been let out of him with just one word. He swallows and straightens his shoulders, a small smile appearing on his face, the dimple faintly visible. “It’s good to see you, Kaya.”

Kaya nods, unable to speak and overcome with a sudden urge to cry. “You, too,” she murmurs, glancing at the floor and blinking rapidly before looking back up at him, a bit defiantly.

“I’m glad you decided to come.”

She nods again, her chest twisting at how normal he sounds. He’s standing far away from her as well, as though to make it clear in every way possible that they’re not together. 

“Hope you had a good concert,” she ventures, recalling the grad student who’d accosted her yesterday, practically beside herself at attending a BTS concert. “Backstage must have been hectic.”

A flicker of something appears in his eyes for a moment, possibly with memories of backstage. Wishes of luck, last minute hugs, sweaty and passionate kisses fueled by adrenaline. But it disappears instantly and Kaya wonders if she imagined it.

“It was,” he answers, nodding. He slides his hands into his pockets smoothly, leaning back on his heels and his smile widening a little. “But worth it as always. The crew did well.”

Kaya doesn’t even bother nodding this time; all of a sudden, she regrets coming here tonight. Dilara has left, she just realises, and Namjoon is acting like they’re acquaintances at best, making her feel stupid and yet immensely grateful that she didn’t wear the sexy black dress.

At that moment, his eyes flicker to something behind her. “I’m sorry, I just need to go and say hi to a couple of people. But enjoy your night. It’s an open bar,” he adds, smiling and nodding politely before brushing past her and walking away.

Kaya doesn’t move; she doesn’t think she can. Something heavy feels like it’s settled on her chest, the weight of confusion, disbelief and crushing disappointment threatening to suffocate her. She has no idea what she’d been expecting; maybe arguing, fighting, crying together again - but not him not caring. Not this.

Namjoon continues walking in the opposite direction for as long as he can keep Kaya in his peripheral vision, both guilty and relieved when she doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t think he can look her in the eye if she does, witness the pain and hurt in her face that close.

He catches Seokjin’s eye and hurries over to him. Seokjin raises his eyebrows and seems to guess what might have transpired, ushering him over to the other end of the circular bar and out of Kaya’s line of sight.

“How did it go?”

Namjoon rests his palms on the bar and shakes his head, no words coming to him at the moment and feeling like he could throw up. He can’t fathom how he did it, how he stood there before her and didn’t immediately pull her to him, or break down and ask her to forgive him for doing the only thing he knew to do.

“Drink this.” Seokjin slides a glass to him and Namjoon takes it without hesitation, taking a huge gulp and waiting for it to sting his sinuses. 

“This is water,” he states hoarsely, frowning at the glass.

“Cold water,” corrects Seokjin. “It’ll help clear your head.”

Namjoon takes another sip and places the glass down, dropping his head into his hands. “I can’t do this. How do I tell her I can’t do this? How do I ask her to -“ But he breaks off here, his mind swimming with the sight of her bare shoulders and exposed collarbones, imagining how they would feel if he held her.

“Okay.” Seokjin exhales through his nose and pauses. “Look, I have to ask. You’ve seen the state she is in. And you’re…” He struggles for a moment “...like this. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to ask her to get back -“

“No.” The answer is instant, although it’s partly a habit by now. As he does every time his mind tries to convince him otherwise, Namjoon forces the memory of her phone call to the forefront of his mind, the fear in her voice and  devastation on her face when he’d entered her apartment.

“But maybe this is -“

“No.” 

Seokjin is silent and Namjoon can tell that he doesn’t approve. Please don’t ask me again, hyung. He doesn’t know if he did the right thing by inviting her but he couldn’t imagine not doing it either, not being right here in her city, knowing she was so close that he could almost smell the coconut and vanilla in the air and still not see her in the flesh.

“If you’re sure,” says Seokjin at last. “If you are, then I guess you did well. Just… just be normal around her. Keep a normal distance, talk about normal things and…” He half-shrugs, sounding uncertain. “She’s smart. She’ll understand. If you’re sure you want to do this, then… she’ll get it.”

Normal. Namjoon knows what he means, but he wants to tell him that none of this is normal. Not touching her, not being honest with her, not being with her - none of it is normal. 

“She’s talking to Yoongi right now,” he adds, and Namjoon turns to see them near the stairs to the top floor. Kaya’s back is to him, her head lowered slightly and her thumbs hooked onto the back pockets of her jeans, the material hugging her hips and curving down her backside… He swallows and looks away.

“This is your chance,” says Seokjin. “Go and mingle. Let her see you moving on - even if you actually aren’t,” he clarifies quickly. “It won’t be pleasant but it might encourage her to do the same.”

Namjoon isn’t sure of the wisdom of this strategy but ever since the cause of his break-up had been revealed to the older members (and surely to Taehyung at least, by Dilara), he’d almost been relieved that he wouldn’t have to make every decision on his own.

He tries his best to navigate the party after that, making empty conversation with guests, using every bit of remaining energy and willpower to plaster a smile on his face. All the while, part of his attention is constantly on Kaya, registering her familiar figure alone at the bar as she nurses a beer, sometimes with Dilara. 

Be normal. Seokjin’s words start holding less and less meaning with every passing minute, especially when he spots Kaya having finished her drink and he’s struck with the sudden fear that she will leave the party. In an effort to be as normal as he can, Namjoon heads over to the bar where she’s scanning the life-size menu half-heartedly, arms folded across her chest.

“Like anything?” he asks humbly. Long Island Iced Tea or a Mai Tai - depends on the flavours. His heart jolts when she shoots him a doubtful look and doesn’t answer, almost as if she’s wary of talking to him. She leans over the bar and gives the bartender a smile that makes his heart drop, especially when he grins back.

“Komt de mai tai in mango?” she asks, half-pouting when he shakes his head. “Een biertje, alsjeblieft,” she says finally, taking her second beer and turning away from the bar.

Namjoon doesn’t remember ever feeling this distant from her. “I’m glad you came tonight,” he tries again, choosing to look at her even though she’s facing away.

Kaya nods, pursing her lips and looking ahead. “Yeah, you said that already.” But her voice trembles ever so slightly, or maybe he just knows her so well that he’s sure it’s not a case of her not wanting to look at him - she can’t look at him.

It’s all on him now. He started this; if there is any hope of them still staying in each other’s lives, it’s down to him to make it happen. 

“How’s your dissertation going?” he asks, hoping her work is a topic she might open up on.

She shrugs after a moment. “Off schedule,” she answers shortly. “A lot of variables hanging in the air.”

“Did you get into the research project you’d applied for?”

It’s momentary but it appears: the corner of her mouth tilts upwards. “Yeah,” she admits, finally looking at him, albeit hesitantly. “Guess I’ll have a lot more time to focus on it now,” she murmurs, the hint of a smile fading.

Namjoon’s heart sinks. She’s so angry with him; it’s palpable and not something he has ever been on the receiving end of. Her hand hangs by her side; his own itches to link his fingers with his, maybe tug her to him or lead her out of this stupid party where he can plead for her to just look at him.

“Well,” he says, then pauses. “I’m glad you could get the time off tonight. Must have been hard.”

“M-hm, not really.” She shakes her head. “Adam wanted to meet but I’ll probably catch up with him later,” she adds nonchalantly.

Namjoon nods, his hand tightening around his glass. He can’t tell if she’s trying to provoke him, for they do work closely; close enough that Adam’s intentions have always been a point of disagreement for them. He’d never been able to explain to her just how much he hated the way her advisor looked at her when she didn’t notice, how his hugs always lingered a moment too long or how he insisted on calling her late in the evenings to discuss work.

He’s distracted momentarily by Jungkook, who approaches them while bopping effortlessly to the music and stops in between them, turning to face in the same direction as Namjoon and Kaya. He’s definitely tipsy; the smile on his face is too big and he doesn’t seem to be reading the room at all.

“Dilara is a really good dancer, isn’t she?” he says loudly in English to no one in particular. Namjoon frowns and follows his gaze to see Dilara, Taehyung and Hoseok dancing, before turning back to look at Jungkook. On his other side, Kaya is also frowning at him, tilting her head curiously. Their eyes meet and she raises her eyebrows slightly.

Namjoon fights a smile as Kaya half-chuckles and looks away, his heart twisting with longing at how much he misses her. She looks so incredibly beautiful; his eyes sting when he realises that there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

“I’m gonna -“ He gestures vaguely and walks away in the opposite direction, desperate to be anywhere but around her before his resolve breaks.

The next half hour is a flurry of faces; Namjoon distracts himself with every single individual at the party, making small talk and exchanging unfunny jokes and hyper aware of Kaya occasionally glancing at him.

He knows, because he’s watching her, too, doing his best to make sure she doesn’t see him looking. He can’t even help it; it’s almost muscle memory at this point.

“Who are you looking at?” The woman he’s talking to asks him point-blank.

Namjoon flushes, realising he’d been staring at Kaya over her shoulder while she’d been speaking.

“No one,” he answers quickly. “Sorry.”

The twenty-something woman frowns curiously. “Are you sure? I’m not offended.”

“It’s… nothing.” He shakes his head and looks at the floor. 

“Ex-girlfriend?”

Ex. Not trusting himself to speak, Namjoon nods. 

“Hm.” She hums, somewhat sympathetically. “Bad break-up?”

“Pretty bad.”

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “It’s never easy to be around an ex if it hasn’t ended well.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, desperate to change the topic. “All part of the process, right?”

“Right,” she says encouragingly. “Plus, once you’re past this phase, the one where you constantly want to die, you can begin the drink and eat and hook up as much as you want stage with no judgement.”

He chuckles politely, the prospect sounding horrendous. “Thanks. Feels good to laugh for real.”

She smiles wider and, before he knows it, leans forward and presses a kiss against his lips.

It takes Namjoon a couple of seconds of pure shock before he jumps backwards. “Whoa. What -“ His heart races uncomfortably. “What was that?”

“Sorry,” she says slowly, looking a little confused. “I thought… you wanted to make your ex jealous. Isn’t that where you were going with this?”

“No,” he clarifies immediately. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want to - no.” In the midst of his minor crisis, he notes how the woman looks almost mortified.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine,” he cuts her off, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. He looks up out of habit and sees, unmistakably, Kaya leaving the restaurant, her long dark hair and the shimmery dark blue of her top disappearing out the door.

—

The night has gotten chillier in the last couple of hours and the cool wind hits her bare shoulders the moment she steps out, but Kaya barely feels it. She’s not thinking right now; thinking is what’s got them here, thinking about everything and overthinking to the point of fleeing a restaurant.

“Kaya!” 

Her feet increase their pace automatically the same time her stomach flips, but he’s taller and faster and he reaches her before she can even reach the elevator.

“Kaya,” he repeats hurriedly, reaching and grabbing her elbow. “Wait, please. I’m sorry -”

“Why did you even invite me here?” she asks, cutting him off and turning around to face him. She’s so tired; she didn’t think break-ups could be this exhausting. “You’ve barely said anything to me. Was it to show me in person how you’re moving on? Because if that’s the case, then… message received.”

Namjoon shakes his head immediately; he looks exhausted as well, and Kaya is once again struck by how much thinner he is, overcome with a mixture of empathy and frustration at him. 

“That was not - I didn’t plan that,” he says, sighing. “I don’t even know who she is. She kissed me and it wasn’t… come on, does it look like I’m moving on?” he asks, raising his arms helplessly.

Kaya stares at him and then sighs, shaking her head. “Why did you invite me here?” she asks again, less defensive this time.

“Because I wanted to see you,” he says at once.

She stares at him. “Well, you’ve seen me,” she says, sniffing. “Can I go now?”

“Kaya…”

“What?”

Namjoon runs a hand through his hair, looking lost for words. “Please don’t -“ He breaks off abruptly before taking a step closer to her, his height both large and comforting. “I don’t want you to be sad. I’m sorry.”

Too late. “You’re not supposed to care how I feel. Not anymore.”

He lets out a humourless chuckle. “What?”

“We’re over.” She can hear the tremble in her voice as she crosses her arms across her chest again. “You said it yourself. You’re not supposed to care how I feel.”

“Really?” He narrows his eyes at her. “You think this break-up had anything to do with how I feel about you? You know as I do that it didn’t.” When she doesn’t answer, he sighs. “I did this because I care.”

“If you say so.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Are you deliberately trying to provoke me or something?”

“Provoke you into what?” she blurts out. “What - what is that you want, exactly? What do you want us to do? Just circle around in each other’s orbits for the rest of our lives, while still being - while still feeling the way we do?” she asks, avoiding her almost-slip of tongue. “We’re just supposed to stay not be together and still stay in each other’s lives? What - what do you want?”

Namjoon opens his mouth but falls silent; it’s clear he hasn’t thought that far ahead - or he can’t say it out loud. “I want…” He begins, before pausing and starting again. “I want… you to be happy,” he says eventually. “And safe.” 

She scoffs and he bristles. 

“I’m serious. I -” He breaks off when someone exits the restaurant, his gaze following them until they’re out of sight before he turns back to her. “This is hard for me, too, you know? Why is it so hard for you to believe I might want you to be happy?”

Kaya exhales but doesn’t answer, because it isn’t hard to believe, not even a little bit. It’s unfortunately the most believable thing he’s ever said to her which means she can’t even fight it.

“How?” she asks finally. “By moving on, like you were pretending to do?”

Namjoon bites his lip and his eyes glaze over, and she knows he’s picturing it. His eyes fall to the floor but he nods slowly anyway. “Yeah, I guess. As long as I don’t have to watch it,” he adds in a mutter.

It’s really over. Kaya feels her eyes well up. “Fine,” she answers quietly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find someone to move on with tonight.” She turns to leave but feels him stop her again. “What?” she snarls.

“Kaya, I -” The lift opens and a handful of people tumble out, holding merchandise and talking loudly. Namjoon’s eyes widen and he immediately grabs her arms and walks her back into a corner, just as the group turns into their corridor and towards the restaurant.

“What are you -”

But the second lift opens just then and they hear the sound of a second group of voices. Namjoon swears under his breath and pushes open a door behind her, walking her back further into the tiny dark room and letting the door swing shut behind him.

“What is wrong with -“

“It’s press,” he hisses, and she falls silent.

He peers out into the corridor through the small window in the door; there’s no light except for the bit through the window and from a skylight in the ceiling. Kaya can smell something vaguely citric that she decides is floor cleaner; they are in a janitor’s closet.

She and Namjoon are frozen in place, his hands still on her arms and hers on his torso to keep from losing her balance. It’s been a long time since they’ve been this close; it takes Kaya a few seconds to realise that the voices outside have disappeared, but he still hasn’t moved away.

Almost as if he’s subconsciously heard her, his thumbs stroke her arm once. The simple touch makes all the anger crumble away for a moment, especially now that it’s just them with the rest of the world shut outside. Kaya hesitates for a moment, then gently rests her forehead on his shoulder. Namjoon stiffens but a moment later, she feels his fingers tighten above her elbows, followed by him loosely enveloping her in his arms.

It seems cruel, almost, that the target of her anger and source of her comfort lie in the same person. It isn’t even a hug; it’s a moment of weakness at best, borne from his almost subconscious need to protect her. For the first time, Kaya wonders if she’s being unfair to him.

Resisting the temptation to wrap her arms around his waist, she steps away from him with difficulty, her back touching the wall. His arms fall from around her reluctantly, his expression resigned. It’s dark but she can see him more clearly than she has all night.

“This is a terrible idea,” she murmurs, echoing her words from a month ago. “The worst you’ve ever had.”

Namjoon exhales shakily but doesn’t argue. “I meant everything I said in that note,” he says, not even trying to hide the tremble in his voice anymore. “And I really do want you to be happy.”

The note. The one he’d kept on her bedside table when he’d left her apartment while she slept, the only thing of his that was left when she’d awoken, naked and alone. She’d only had the strength to read it once before she’d broken down and tucked it deep into her drawer, knowing the words would be etched in her memory.

“You know what will make me happy,” she whispers, looking at the ground. She feels him come closer to her, one hand hovering by her side as though unable to decide if she’d want her to touch him. 

He finally rests it lightly on her waist, moving it slightly upward as she looks up at him, her heart twisting at how he’s unable to meet her eyes. She places her hands on his face, thinking vaguely how much she misses seeing his dimple.

“Joon,” she whispers, waiting for him to nod once. “Look at me.”

Namjoon visibly swallows, gaze still fallen. “Kaya, I…”

“No,” she interrupts him. “Look at me.”

With what seems like an enormous effort, he meets her eyes. This is hard for me too, you know? 

She knows. Kaya strokes his cheekbones with her thumbs, her touch feather-light. “Kiss me,” she whispers. She touches her forehead to his and closes her eyes, hoping he’ll give in, for she can’t go further than this. 

His hand tightens around her waist, pressing her into the wall. Their lips brush momentarily and he shivers.

“Do it,” she urges, her voice barely audible now. “Kiss me.”

She feels his lips before she even registers him moving against her and she leans into it, feeling like she can breathe for the first time in weeks. Come back to me, she thinks desperately. Come back to where you belong.

It’s like he can hear her. Namjoon pulls away, one hand on the wall beside her face for support, the other holding her.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it sends a jolt of anticipation through her heart. “I love you, Kaya,” he adds, voice full of emotion. Kaya nods, unable to speak, wishing he would meet her eyes. He moves his hands to her face and touches his forehead to hers again, swallowing.

Look at me.

But he doesn’t. “But you have no idea,” he continues, every word sounding like it's costing him effort, “how I felt when you called me that night. The things that went through my mind…” He sniffs, and Kaya’s heart sinks. “I can’t let that happen again baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

She can feel her face start to contort and she drops her hands from his shoulders, for she knows this part by heart. “Goodbye, Namjoon,” she mutters thickly, sliding out from between him and the wall. She pushes open the door and hurries out, leaving him behind.

—

When she hears the knock on her front door the next morning, Kaya is just about to step into the shower. She freezes and sighs, for she really, really needs this shower. She considers ignoring it but the knock sounds again and she groans, abandoning the activity of tying up her hair and letting it fall loose instead. 

Grabbing the old, threadbare robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, she pulls it around herself and shuffles to the front door. She peers through the peephole and her heart stops for a moment, but she steels herself and opens the door.

Namjoon stands before her, hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched. “Hey. I just wanted to - oh, God,” he switches abruptly, his expression changing from vaguely apologetic to shocked, and he slips inside the apartment.

“What?” Kaya asks, taken off guard and stumbling backwards.

“You really opened the door wearing that?” he hisses, shutting the door behind him. “I could’ve been anyone!”

“I knew it was you,” she argues, tightening the belt around her waist and realising, for the first time, how short the robe is. But she isn’t about to admit that to him, especially not when he’s turned up unannounced and decided to begin his visit by berating her. She folds her arms across her chest. “What do you want, Namjoon?”

He hesitates, almost as though he’s just noticing how displeased she is. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking a bit ashamed. “I didn’t mean to… anyway,” he says quickly, wringing his hands and slipping them back in his pockets. “How are you?”

Kaya shrugs suspiciously. He looks remarkably different from where she’d left him last night, almost breaking down and apologising to her. Right now, he seems almost… calm. She can almost imagine that last night had been a slip-up of emotion, possibly due to tiredness and an open bar, whereas in the light of day, he’s back to being the responsible ex who’s fulfilling his obligations by checking up on her each day.

“I’m great.”

He nods after a moment, clearly not believing her. “Well, I came here because…” He sighs and a glimmer of last night’s emotion appears on his face. “I thought about what you said last night. And you were right.”

The jolt in her stomach is almost painful, but Kaya hangs on. If he was talking about what she thinks he is, he would be delivering it far more differently.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t expect you to keep doing this,” he adds. “Staying in this limbo, not knowing…” He bites his lip and lowers his gaze, removing his hands from his pockets. “You have every right to move on. I want you to - to be happy.”

Kaya licks her lips slowly. “This,” she says coldly, “could’ve been a text.”

“I didn’t want to leave things the way they were last night,” he tells her, his voice softer. “You’re, uh…” His voice breaks off for a moment. “You’re the love of my life. And we were together for a long time and I… I loved every moment of it. I just want to say goodbye the right way.”

Her throat hurts holding back the rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. 

“Are you sure?” She can’t resist asking, in a whisper. When he nods and lowers his eyes, she feels the heavy, heavy anchor of acceptance settle in her stomach. 

Namjoon hesitantly reaches out with one hand but when she gives him a look, he nods and steps forward, and they meet in their last hug, three and a half years after their first last hug in her apartment.

Kaya hugs him tight, no longer caring about hiding how she feels. There isn’t enough time to try and memorise everything so she doesn’t even try; she just goes higher on her toes and presses her nose into his shoulder, revelling in his scent one last time.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be doing much better. He’s holding her tight, so tight that it doesn’t seem like he’s ever intending on letting her go. His face is in her hair and his arms stroke her back in small movements, his go-to movement to comfort her since they met.

Just a few more seconds. The sensations increase now; the feel of his shoulders, his chest touching hers - and she’s suddenly conscious of the thin robe being the only thing separating her naked body from him.

At the same time, his hands move to her waist - out of habit, she knows, but she can’t help but be extremely aware of it. His hand stops just above the curve of her hips, quickly and abruptly. 

Her mouth feels dry, but her legs press together. Then, as though he can read her mind and the direction her thoughts are invariably leading in, against her hip, she can feel his body react.

She lets out a soft gasp and feels his body stiffen around her. This is goodbye, a voice reminds her, urging her brain to focus on the matter at hand. But it’s slipping - fading, almost, as a physical urge struggles for dominance. 

Her lips brush his neck as she pulls away - she has to pull away - but it doesn’t matter in the end because somewhere along the way his lips find hers and all thought disappears, replaced by touch, feel and hunger.

Namjoon sighs into her mouth like he’s breathing for the first time, pulling her close. Her robe starts to loosen and he tugs at the belt, groaning when his hands touch her bare skin.

“Fuck, are you really not wearing anything under this?” he murmurs, his voice so low and reverberating so deep inside her that she shivers.

The robe is off; it’s cool and sudden air, a moment where his hands fall from her waist and then their back but this time, it’s skin against skin. It’s lips and sighs and tight grips, the feel of denim, her fingers moving out of habit as they unbutton and unzip - and then there’s pride and relief when she feels his desire for her, still the same as ever, no matter his words.

There’s something solid against her back; somewhere, dimly, her mind registers that her dining table is rickety and has her laptop on it, and then she’s leaning forward and he’s behind her and his chest is against her back and he wants her just as much as he wants him.

“Are you -“

“I’m still on birth control,” she confirms tightly, the next moment feeling his fingers on her hips and then he’s inside her again, after so long. She could almost sob at how good it feels, how right, the lips on her shoulder and his scent and touch.

But it’s over too soon. She gasps and falls forward, her ears ringing and heart hurting at the same time as her heart races. He’s getting close, too; she tries to memorise it now, the exact moment, but then he pulls out. It’s sudden, the emptiness, but the next moment, she feels wetness on her back.

It takes around ten seconds, ten seconds when she’s frozen before she finally hears him sigh and take a step away. A moment later, she reaches across the table and pulls the tissue box towards her, reaching behind and wiping her back.

Kaya turns slightly to see him pulling on his T-shirt, jeans buttoned already. She picks up her robe and pulls it on hurriedly, suddenly not wanting to be naked for even another microsecond in front of him.

Something feels wrong. It’s not the first time he’s finished on her; he’s done it before, on explicit request and without, none of which ever made her feel… like this. Self-conscious. Bare.

Namjoon clears his throat. “I -“ He meets her eyes, still panting slightly. “I still want to… do this right,” he says, sounding almost formal. “Goodbye, Kaya.” 

He starts to take a step forward but pauses. “Maybe we shouldn’t hug,” he murmurs, offering her a small smile. Kaya watches as he hesitantly offers her a hand.

This is goodbye. Kaya can’t remember ever feeling this uncomfortable around him. The momentary loss of her sense of reason feels like it’s returned in full form, and she tightens the robe around her. She starts to reach for his hand but then stops.

“This is what you meant?” she asks quietly. “When you said you wanted to do it the right way? You wanted to see if you could squeeze in one last fuck before you closed this out like a business meeting?”

“What?” Namjoon’s eyes widen. “No! I didn’t - I didn’t want that to happen! I mean - you know that’s not what I meant,” he adds quickly. “I didn’t plan this. You and I both -“

“You planned our break-up and I had no idea,” she cuts him off, the shame and embarrassment creeping up her throat. “I really don’t know anymore.”

He scoffs, but his eyes flicker like he’s been stung. “Is that what you think of me? We were both here, Kaya. It wasn’t just me - you wanted this just as much as I -“

“I slept with Adam.” 

Namjoon freezes. He swallows and his eyes flicker again, rapidly this time. “You’re lying,” he whispers.

Kaya shrugs, holding his gaze with every last bit of willpower in her. “You were the one who told me to move on last night,” she reminds him, watching his expression crumble and doing nothing to stop it.

After what feels like several minutes, or maybe even hours, Namjoon nods slowly. Then, without another word, he turns around and opens the door, walking out of her life and shutting the door behind him.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to drop a review :)

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon x oc #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #micdropnet #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #wkcnet #hyunglinenetwork #bts rm fanfic #bts rm angst #bts rm smut

[eoieopda]

the one where hoseok comes home

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x gn!Reader Type: Drabble // Fluff // Established Relationship AU Rating: PG-13 — Minors DNI w/ my content, regardless! CW: None 💕 Summary: It’s October 2024 and your life finally — finally — resumes its orbit. WC: .5k A/N: Deviating from my WIPs (ope) because I needed a fix-it fic for, like, reality? Nobody requested this lil baby blurb, unless you count… me. Dedicated to (m)y jihope-biased emotional support moot, @here2bbtstrash

You’d learned more in eighteen months than you had in over eighteen years of formal education.

The first lesson came on your second morning alone: hotteok tastes better when it’s made for you. Even if the cook gets distracted by the background music they themselves are generating. Even if the edges are crispier than they should be, and the centers are a bit gooey, or there’s pre-packaged mix dusting over your previously clean countertops. Even if that hotteok is cold by the time you stop kissing and start eating, you know now that few things in life are sweeter.

He is, of course, but the point still stands.

Showers, you’d learned, are colder when you take them alone. This was a surprise you grappled with for weeks and a confounding reality you still struggle to square. A scientific mystery, then and now.

All of the hot water was yours — exclusively — to use as you pleased. You didn’t have to scramble, soap-covered and squealing, for the prime spot under the shower head. Cold air didn’t nip at your damp skin when you lost territory because you didn’t have to compete for any in the first place. Still, without whole-chested laughter to echo off the walls, not much existed to separate your body from cold porcelain.

The absence of personal space isn’t something you intend to ever take for granted again.

Of all the things you’d realized in your uncharacteristically quiet apartment, one thing hit a little harder:

Love looks different every day.

Sometimes, it comes at an odd angle. It’s spending all thirty minutes of a daily allowance with a phone propped against a faucet. It’s staring up at someone’s chin, watching fondly as they brush their teeth, and smiling when they remember — without being told — to put the cap back on the toothpaste.

Other times, it looks like an Excel spreadsheet of pop culture news, fastidiously collected and organized so that no groundbreaking celebrity gossip goes unreported. It’s incredulous eyes and a scandalized mouth hanging open, interjecting occasionally with, “Wa, jinjja?”

Every now and then, it looks like handwritten letters with thick, black redactions applied after the fact with a far heavier hand. Though you couldn’t tell where in the Republic they came from, you knew — without question — that government censorship does not apply to hastily doodled hearts.

Today, however, love doesn’t look like much of anything because its hands are covering your eyes.

It sounds like clean spoons clattering back into the dishwasher you’d been emptying, entirely unaware that the door down the hall had opened and shut out of earshot. It smells like army-issued shampoo and Thai milk tea from that little spot near the train station, where surprise journeys home occur two days ahead of schedule. And it feels like the ground shifting beneath your fluffy house slippers; the Earth now back on its axis and ready to resume spinning like it should.

Tonight, love will taste like hotteok for dinner — and you won’t have to make it yourself.

#jade’s drabbles #bts #bts drabble #hobi drabble #jhs #jung hoseok #hobi #hoseok drabble #hoseok x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x y/n #hobi x you #hobi x y/n #hobi x reader #hoseok fluff #hobi fluff #bts fluff #btshoneyhive #micdropnet #re: the one where hoseok comes home

[btskitten7]

Silent Grace Chapter v: A deadly favor (part one)

Ship: Min Yoongi x fem reader

AU/genre: Mafia!au

Rating: M

wc: 7.2k

Chapter warnings: spicy scene (oral f. Receiving. Fingering. Implied love making) Yoongi getting drunk (and very sad) stalking mentioned. Selling drugs.

Chapter summary: this is where Yoongi’s mask starts to slip and he’s having difficulty keeping it straight. He knows his lies are going to catch up to him and it’s getting to him. Namjoon betrays Yoongi without knowing the extent of his betrayal. Yoongi’s dad is an ass here :/ Hoseok is closing in on you. This is where things are going downhill.

taggs: @shadowjellyfishfest @scuxmunkie @baechugff @maunosorioh @shelylamc

You were only able to fall asleep for an hour and it wasn’t so pleasurable. You kept tossing and turning. Your mind continued to run and think about Yoongi, just thinking about how angry he was with you. It scared you a bit. Yoongi has never got so angry with you like that, you’ve never seen him like that in all the years you’ve known him. Sure, you have seen him become upset or irritated. You saw him scold some of the people that work for him but you never seen him at like the way he did tonight.

You are not scared of Yoongi, there’s no way you could be.

But you have to admit, it’s something you’ll never forget.

Lifting from your comfortable bed and throwing off the covers, you got up from the bed. Grabbing the blanket from the chair in the corner of your massive room, you headed out to the balcony to enjoy what’s left of the sun setting.

A sigh left Yoongi’s lips as he entered his home. Yoongi took his time driving home. He needed to make sure his head was fully clear before he even attempted to talk to you. If he was still as angry as he was before, he knows he’ll fuck things us more. He badly wanted to fix things between you and him, but it was hard for him to explain where he was coming from. He knew you wouldn’t understand without him having to explain everything. Which in turn would lead you to find out about him and his family.

You didn’t know that he knew who promised to repay you. You didn’t know that the man that gave you all these flowers was the very man that robbed the love of your life of his.

Hoseok caused a lot of pain that he hasn’t apologized for. Thank God Yoongi wasn’t holding his breath to get one. He would have died a long time ago.

So finally getting rid of him after all these years to see him wiggle his way back to Korea, in HIS part of town, and found a way to HIS girlfriend was unsettling for Yoongi. It was damn near disrespectful.

He could explain this two you. But Yoongi also didn’t know if Hoseok even knows who YOU are.

The chance was small, especially since Hoseok sent all them damn flowers. Yoongi just knew in his heart… Hoseok knows who you are. Besides, what Hoseok did is still hard for Yoongi, Namjoon, and Seokjin to talk about.

Hearing Hoseok’s name after all this time just left a bad taste in their mouths. Yoongi thought about the small picture that you have in your workspace. You couldn’t see the faces if you stand from the desk. You’d have to grab the picture to know it was him and the picture was old. He looks completely different now. There is no way one can put two and two together unless they knew him.

‘But this Hoseok we’re talking about.’ Yoongi thought to himself as he went through his office to check some things that his father had instructed him to. “Of course, he looked at the fucking picture” Yoongi cursed to himself.

He rubbed his temples as the stress was slowing piling on. His father warned him about this truth, true enough, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon and before he even took over the family officially. A weight lifted off of his shoulders when he came to this realization. As long as you didn’t see Hoseok again and stop working at that fucking hospital, things should be normal.

It’s not like Hoseok knows where you are located and Yoongi doesn’t stay in the same area he did when they were friends. He was going to convince you to leave your job. Well, maybe a 0.5 weight. Getting you to leave something you loved was going to be hard. Trust him, he would know.

~~~~

“You should just leave me alone Y/n. I don’t want to hurt you.” Yoongi painfully said.

He just found out that he’d have to skip out on going to college to take over the family ‘business’

As if this ‘business’ is legit. His parents promised him that he would have to live like they did. They told him that once he got done with high school he could do whatever he wanted and have their support. He had it all planned. He was going to go to school and get a degree in music, he was going to audition at a company and finally, he was going to marry you. But all that came crashing down when his father lied to him and kept feeding him lies. His mother didn’t even back him up like she said she would. She just sat there.

‘Why do I have to take this shit!? Why do I have to give up everything I want to please you? I thought you didn’t want a life like this for me. Wasn’t that the whole point of you guys pushing me to finish school with good grades and get a degree in something? Why the sudden change?! And right when I find someone I can see myself with…’ he thought about what he told his parents while he looked at your painful face.

You were lost for words. Here you two are in the middle of a park, late at night on a Wednesday after an amazing dinner and a movie date. You had no idea that Yoongi was even planning on breaking up with you.

The sad thing is, neither did Yoongi. His father demanded that he did so.

“What? How would you hurt me? What are you talking about?” you asked. You had to admit. You were confused. Just the other day You and Yoongi were talking about moving in with one another and now he’s sitting here telling you that he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Is there someone…else?” you asked defeatedly. Yoongi’s head snapped up with a surprised look.

“No. There is no one else. And there will be no one after you either.”

“Then…were you lying to me this entire time?”

Yoongi shook his head no.

“I never lied to you. My feelings, my words, and my love are all real for you. This pains me as much as it pains you to do this…”

“Then don’t do it. Sadly, I’m not that easy to get rid of. Especially without a reason. Or a sad excuse like that” you said crossing your arms which made Yoongi chuckle a bit.

“I’m serious Y/n. I don’t want to lose you or worse hurt you. If anything, I just want to protect you…”

“There’s nothing you could do to hurt me. And if you did, I would tell you, and depending on what it is, we could fix it but at the very least we would talk about it before anything.”

~~~~

Yoongi looked into your eyes with more love for you now than he already did. He should have told you everything that night. Instead, he lies to you and gets into situations like this where he has to lie to you some more. He still had to explain why he flew off the handle like that.

“ Y/n “ he whispers after entering the room. He didn’t want to be loud just in case you had fallen asleep. Yoongi looked over at the bed and saw you weren’t there. A small frown formed on his face as he continued to look around for you but came up short. He almost began to panic but then it hit him. Your favorite spot. The balcony. It was your comfort spot. Most nights he would find you there. On other nights you both would sleep there if the weather permitted. No doubt you’d be there tonight too.

#bts fanfic #bts imagine #bts jungkook #bts angst #bts x reader #bts yoongi #bts jhope #bts smut #bts namjoon #bts smut drabble #bts mafia au #bangtanwhq #micdropnet

[colormepurplex2]

Bump In The Night | MYG

▻ Bump In The Night ↳ Bogeyman!Yoongi x f.Reader ⤜ Horror/Thriller/Demon, Nyctophobia ⤜ Monster Under The Bed AU | angst, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 12,395 ⤜ Summary: The dark can be scary; full of strange, unseen things. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on your fear, the lights go out, and you face the reality that you were always right—you should fear the dark and especially what’s waiting in it. ⚠️ Crass language, fear, inciting fright, playing on emotions, teasing, kissing, fingering, biting/marking, dom tones, begging, choking, panic, unprotected v. sex, feeding on fear, dark thoughts, revealed dark intentions, predator/prey tones, chasing, claiming, serpentine tongue, oral f.receiving, monster cock/sex, metamorphosis

Written for the BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween collab for @minisugakoobies A/N: Sunny, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did while writing it. Happy belated birthday and hope you have a pleasant spooky holiday full of Bogeyman Yoongi delight!

A special thank you to @star-my @hisunshiine and @downbad4yoongi for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Beg For It

Nyctophobia [ nik-tuh-foh-bee-uh ] - noun Psychiatry: extreme or irrational fear of the night or of darkness.

One…

Two…

Three…

Breathe. Another few seconds, that’s all you want; just precious moments to prove yourself.

Four…

Five…

Six…

Cold chills slither down your spine despite the hot water beating against your back. Your fingers work vigorously against your cheeks and along your forehead. What feels like a thousand pounds settles along your lashes, even though you know it’s nothing more than marshmallowy-light foam.

Seven…

Eight…

Nin—

You spin around, nearly losing your footing in the shower as you angle your face under the spray from the showerhead. The heels of your palms press against your lids as you try to rid them of the foamy facial cleanser.

Air wheezes into your lungs, stray drops of water sucking between your parted lips as you try to breathe against the panic building in your chest. Jerking back from the spray, you open your eyes, wincing at the sting from the water-mixed-with-cleanser that drips from your lashes and floods the corners.

Nothing. There’s nothing there. All you see is the steam-filled space of your shower, water pelting down at your feet, a smattering of bottles arranged on the lip of the tub, and the inside of your plain shower curtain.

You sigh, irritation itching in your chest. Not even nine seconds. You were trying for at least ten. It never fails to leave a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you can’t seem to get a grip on yourself. It’s just the dark. Hell, it’s not even really the dark. It’s just having your eyes closed against the bright fluorescent lights of your bathroom; a pseudo-darkness.

The unease in your stomach refuses to dissipate as you turn off the shower, step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and go through the routine of brushing your teeth and massaging moisturizer into your skin. You hang up your damp towel, quickly pulling on the oversized t-shirt and shorts you intend to sleep in.

Steam clouds the mirror. You don’t typically care to wipe it away, not anymore. It’s one of your small, personal victories—one you intentionally remind yourself of now after your panicked stint in the shower. It used to be that you couldn’t stand not being able to see the space behind you through the reflective surface. Knowing if something lurked outside your line of sight, it couldn’t hide from being exposed through the mirror. Being able to see behind you was all that mattered. Now, you take pride in not needing to see…yet, the niggling in the back of your head won’t cease. So, you swipe a hand, collecting tiny beads of moisture on your palm as you go.

You’re unsure why the act makes your heart beat a little harder. It’s supposed to elicit the calm you so desperately need. But, once you’ve slashed a clear path across the mirror, your brow furrows as you lean in closer to it. Cold dread thunders through your veins as you jerk back, spinning on your heel to make sure what you saw through the mirror wasn’t just your mind playing a trick on you.

Nope, not a trick or even a figment of your imagination…unfortunately.

You stare in paranoid disbelief at the slender gap along the bottom of the bathroom door. The door that leads into your bedroom where you are absolutely, without a doubt, positive you left your bedside lamp on. The gap is dark, like a void threatening to suck you right into an endless nightmare of unrelenting terror. All that’s missing is a gaunt, skeletal hand sliding its too-long fingers under the door.

Shoving away those intrusive thoughts before they can take root and further fester like a dirty wound on your sanity, you try to think logically. It’s possible the bulb in your lamp could have blown, but you know you replaced it just last month. It’s far too soon for it to blow on its own, and surely, it’s not a faulty bulb. So, why is it out? Were you careless and, in truth, didn’t turn it on? A manic laugh gets caught in your throat as you silently berate yourself. That must be it. You simply forgot. So careless.

Fear is an acrid taste on your tongue as you slowly approach the door. You hate this feeling. Even though you tell yourself there’s nothing out there lurking in the dark to harm you, you simply forgot to leave the light on. The distress doesn’t subside—and it won’t. At least, not until you open the door and prove the dark to harbor no ill intent toward you.

Squaring your shoulders and taking what is supposed to be a calming and fortifying breath, though it feels more like sand slipping into your lungs, you wrap your fingers firmly around the brushed nickel handle. The metal is warm, slightly wet from the condensation formed during your shower, against your palm as you twist it.

You lick your trembling lips, taking one more moment to center yourself. Your eyes slide closed as you mentally recall the layout of your room, calculating how many steps there are to get to the nearest light switch. Your bed is angled so the foot faces the bathroom door, and the closet door to the left near the two windows you know are closed tight with the curtains drawn. The bedroom door is easily the furthest from the bathroom, leaving the overhead light out of the question. You knew, before you even began to analyze, that the bedside lamp you recall yourself leaving on is going to be the closest light source. Still, you needed to go through the motion of solidifying that information in your mind.

As you haltingly push it open, the quiet creak of the door, which sounds deafening in the silence of the bathroom, causes chills to pop up along your arms and the hairs at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Darkness ebbs as the light from the bathroom bleeds across the hardwood of your bedroom floor, slowly revealing the interior of your room.

Your heart lurches, and a scream rips from your chest when you see a dark figure sitting at the end of your bed come into focus as the bathroom door swings further open, the handle barely held in your now numb fingers. Panic barrels through you. Your muscles react instinctively, fingers tightening around the knob as you jerk back, the door closing with a harsh bang as you backpedal across the bathroom.

“Babe,” calls a playful voice from just on the other side of the door. You can barely hear it over the roaring in your ears. Nausea threatens to double you over, even as relief floods your system—such conflicting emotions that you feel suddenly off-kilter. 

There is a fine sheen of cold sweat clinging to your neck. Your hands fist into the front of your shirt as the door eases open to reveal your boyfriend standing at the threshold. His dark ensemble makes it seem like the bathroom's light bends around his form, not daring to touch him.

You’ve never liked it when someone intentionally scares you, claiming it’s a joke. It always seems more like a cruel prank than a laughing matter. Though, you note, no one is laughing right now either way. He doesn’t look smug or self-satisfied for having scared you, just simply mildly amused.

“You scared me, Yoongi,” you state flatly, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he picks up on your discomfort.

The corners of his lips turn down, and his brow furrows as he gives you an exaggerated pout. Even with your pounding heart and the upside down in your belly, you can’t help but appreciate how cute he is when he does that. “I know. I just didn’t see the point in wasting the power if you weren’t going to be in there.” He gestures vaguely behind him to your room, which is barely lit by the light pouring out of the bathroom.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to remind him that even though you weren’t in there, he was. Though, for some reason, Yoongi sitting in the dark doesn’t strike you as out of place. In the five years you’ve been together, you’ve learned to love his odd quirks just as much as any other part of him. He’s genuine, a caring person who isn’t afraid to be vulnerable—a far cry from anyone else you’ve ever given your time to.

“How was work?” you ask, aiming to get back on track with some semblance of normalcy—anything to not dwell on the lingering discomfort that’s still beating away in your chest.

His shoulders hitch up in a nonchalant manner. “Same as always. There’s been a big break in the Hunt case. Director Park thinks we’ll have the code cracked in a few more days. I say by tomorrow night, tops, just in time for our date. It’ll be a reward for my hard work,” his eyes twinkle with mirth. “After all, I think Samhain is a pretty fitting day for dealing with evil, huh?”

You make a noncommittal sound at that last part. Yoongi might enjoy that thought, but to you, tomorrow is more so just a day…simply October 31st and is more about plastic pumpkins, like the ones you have sitting on your front porch, than dealing with evil like that. The fact that Yoongi has convinced you to go to a festival tomorrow night is so wild you’ve been forcing yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I’d put my money on you over Director Park any day,” you say instead, giving him a soft, knowing smile. Yoongi has a penchant for estimations. If he thinks it’ll only take another day to crack a code that’s been wreaking havoc on Interpol for the better part of a year, then you believe him. You don’t pretend to understand all the intricacies of what he does; just know he’s really good with computers and helps whichever government agency needs it most or something like that.

Yoongi gives you a lazy smile in return. “Mmm, that’s what I like to hear. Your confidence in me is like kindling for my fervor,” he croons, wrapping you up in his arms. It feels good to relax in his embrace, the last vestiges of your earlier panic melting away as you soak in his warmth and familiarity. “Sorry I scared you,” he murmurs into your damp hair. “Let me make it up to you.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, laughing softly when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt and teasingly caress your sides—the touch is light, making your skin tighten and prickle in response.

A rumbling groan vibrates through Yoongi’s chest as he playfully nips along your jaw before planting his lips firmly over yours in a dizzying and claiming way. “We’ll start with kissing,” the words are whispered between plucks of his mouth against yours, tongue swiping sensually across your bottom lip.

“Kissing is good,” you agree, smiling against his mouth before melting into another heated tangle of tongues and stilted breaths. That fist around your heart eases, letting your chest expand fully for the first time since before you showered.

“Biting,” he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss to bury his face in your neck. The light pressure of his teeth pressing against your skin has your toes curling against the cold tile floor and your fingers fisting into the front of his shirt.

Yoongi plants his mouth right over your pulse point, his tongue flicking over your throbbing vein as his teeth clamp down gently. You swallow hard against the sensation, your heart shifting gears to thud fast in your chest for a different reason. It’s not necessarily fear that drives your senses higher now so much as it is anticipation and an increase in adrenaline—terror adjacent, something you prefer much more to the former.

You shudder against him, knees going weak as he moans, the sound sending pulsing shocks of vibrations down your spine with how his mouth fits against your neck. His fingers ghost along your shorts before finally pushing past the elastic band. The palms of his hands are warm as they slide around and grip handfuls of your ass.

Using his hold on you, Yoongi lifts you up onto the counter beside the sink. As his hands retreat, they tug your shorts with them, working them around the curve of your ass until they’re caught at your knees. You let him push them further until they slacken and fall to catch around your ankles, then onto the floor. Wincing slightly at how cold the counter is against your bare skin, you urge him to fill the space between your thighs, seeking his warmth flush against you once again.

“Yoongi,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as he slides a hand between your bodies and presses the flat of his fingers against your pussy. You don’t need to look in the mirror to know his teeth have left an impression on your neck. He leans back and licks his lips in a show of appreciation, lidded eyes full of mischief and barely veiled lust. “Please.” It comes out warbled as he teases his middle finger between your lower lips.

“Beg for it,” he says. “Show me how much you want me to make you forget about the darkness.” His voice has an edge, like he’s teasing at something, but it’s lost on you to piece together what it might be.

Sucking in a deep breath, you repeat your plea, “Please.”

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and you can feel your erratic heartbeat pounding between your legs and under the sensitive skin of your neck that Yoongi ravaged with his teeth. Lightheadedness kisses the edges of your clarity, daring you to get lost in the delirium that Yoongi is offering.

“You can do better than that,” Yoongi taunts, his laugh low and husky as he pulls away, leaving you bereft of his touch where you want it most. “Beg. For. It.” The words are clipped, punctuated with staccato taps of his middle finger against your sensitive clit.

“Fuck—Yoongi, please! Please, I need you!”

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi smiles wickedly. Two slender fingers sliding into your wet heat are your reward. “You’re so wet already. Look at how your body is pulling me in. Fuck, that’s nice.” He angles himself so you can both look down and watch his fingers slowly pull out, glistening with your arousal before sinking back in.

Your body squeezes around his fingers, walls fluttering in anticipation and building pleasure. “Need you,” you mumble, grabbing at the button on the front of his dark wash jeans with one hand and tugging at the bottom of his black t-shirt with the other. “Fuck me, Yoongi, please. Please, fuck me. I need you to make me forget.”

A flurry of motion accompanies his answering growl of approval as he helps you strip him out of his clothes and the rest of your own. You barely feel the absence of his fingers in your cunt before he pulls your ass to the edge of the counter and shoves his cock inside with a guttural moan that echoes in the small space.

The fit of him inside your body is deliciously perfect, like he was made to please you. Your fingers press dents into his shoulders as you grip him tightly. One of his hands squeezes your hip to keep you from slipping off the counter while the other finds its way to having a light grip on your throat.

His forehead rests against yours, the back of your head pressed against the mirror behind you. The angle makes his thrusts shallow, forcing the crown of his cock to rock against a sensitive spot deep inside that has you seeing spots behind your closed lids.

Yoongi has always been a contrasting lover, hot and cold, in a way that always leaves you breathless and assuaged. The look on his face says he’s fucking you, but the sensual roll of his hips says he’s making love to you—the hand on your throat says he just wants to control you. Regardless of how he fucks, it always consumes you. From the first time to now, he wholly and utterly devours your sanity and spits it back at you two-fold. He brings you palpable lucidity while also destroying all sense of right and wrong. Some call it morally grey; you call it just another titillating facet of who he is.

Pleasure builds fast, and you know you’re about to tip over the edge when the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. It’s an infinitesimal change, but it feels like the tightening of a vice all the same.

The erratic beat of your heart stutters further, swallowing you down into a thick-headed spiral of trepidation. You know Yoongi won’t hurt you. It’s not that—not quite. It’s the idea and knowledge that he could. It’s a taboo feeling, craving that helpless flutter deep in your belly that dares you to indulge in the darkness instead of running from it.

Yoongi’s hips continue to roll against you, your body pinned in place by his hand on your throat. Your eyes flutter open just to fall shut again as the hand on your hip moves until his thumb presses against your clit, making your body jerk and hurtle back toward the precipice of pleasure from before.

With his thumb pressed against one throbbing artery in your neck and the pads of his fingers against the twin on the other side, he has complete and utter control over you. All it takes is another barely-there squeeze to have you changing your grip from his shoulders to his forearm.

The bitter taste of cowardice laces together with the cloyingly sweet, carnal flavor of lust that’s coating your insides. Yoongi rumbles, a moan low in his chest. The rhythm of his hips kicks up until they’re hammering against yours to the point that measures of pain mix with the terror, forming into a rapture of exhilaration. His thumb coaxes your orgasm through precise flicks over your swollen clit.

You can’t help the sound that rips from your throat, squeezing past his grip in a ragged mockery of a moan—bright colors spiderweb across the backs of your closed lids as you sip from his chalice of wickedness. White noise joins the rush of blood in your ears as somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, alarm begins to bleed into the hazy euphoria clouding your head. “Yes!” Yoongi groans. “That’s it, fuck!”

“Y-yoon—“ you try to choke out his name, fingers trembling from their tight grip on his forearm. Just as you’re about to try and shove him away to get a reprieve, his hand loosens its hold on your throat, and the instant rush of oxygen to your brain washes away all other thoughts as your body surrenders once again to his dominion. The orgasm tears through you, sweeping you out in a hedonistic riptide. Your walls clamp around his cock so hard he snarls and shudders with the trigger of his own release.

You must have blacked out from the overwhelming cascade that besieged your senses because the next thing you’re aware of is Yoongi tucking you into bed beside him. The sheets are cool against your heated skin, a welcome lull of relief. He presses into your sated body, chest against your back and arm possessively curling over your hip. “Get some sleep, my queen,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold the darkness back.”

The room is dark, just as it was earlier when you panicked. But, just as always, when Yoongi is around, it’s less frightening…seemingly somehow less dark and foreboding. He might have darker desires when it comes to pleasure, but right now, he’s the light that chases away your other demons.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

The taste of your fear still lingers in the back of Yoongi’s throat as he pretends to sleep curled around you. He knew turning off your bedroom light would scare you. It’s why he did it. The peckish feeling that rumbled in the pit of his stomach drove him to want to play with you. Your fear instantly sated his hunger, and it made his dick hard when you screamed. You scream so prettily he just can’t help that natural, primal response. 

That is, after all, precisely why he chose you. Everything about you speaks to his needs, promising sweet and succulent fruit that’s always ripe for plucking.

He learned early on that if he could elevate your heart rate and incite a sliver of fear in you while fucking you…well, his full belly is testament enough to how much he loves that. You call it a kink, he calls it dessert. It wasn’t his intention to fuck you after he frightened you, but the irritating erection grating along his zipper had other plans. 

His mortal form isn’t his favorite. It’s far too small and has far too many baser needs and limitations. Though he does enjoy the feel of your soft, pliant flesh under his—especially when you’re ripe with the sweet smell of terror—it makes it worth the discomfort this inferior mode has.

It’s not lost on Yoongi that he could have ruined you from the start by taking too much from you. But he’s been careful over the years, molding and training your body to be the perfect vessel for him to feed from. The fact you were already experiencing high anxiety and an innate fear of the dark prior to him coming into your life helped tremendously. Nyctophobia is such a beautiful thing.

You claim he’s helped you, for the most part, get over your fears. However, he knows this is just a lie you tell him and yourself to make yourself feel and seem braver. He knows the truth, though. There is no getting over your fear, not when it lives with you…sleeps next to you, touches you, fucks you. He’s everything you’re scared of, everything you think is creeping around in the dark, waiting to pounce. He’s your worst nightmare…literally as much as figuratively—and you have absolutely no inkling of that truth. All you see is what he lets you see: just a sweet guy with a penchant for darker tastes behind closed doors.

To you, he’s just Yoongi. But he has had many names over the centuries: Demon, Baba Yaga, El Coco, Butzemann, Tikoloshe, Bogeyman, and so on. All of them are generally the same, but none are quite right. He is all these things, and yet none of these things—he’s so much more.

It’s a common misconception that he only targets people who do misdeeds. That’s not it at all, for the sweetest fruit is the unwary, the innocent, the vulnerable, and the scared. That is the pinnacle of his desire, the unctuous delight that feeds his depravity and gives him power over the darkness—darkness that calls to him now.

Being careful not to wake you, Yoongi slips out from around your soft, lush body. Feeding on your fear in the bathroom drained some of your vitality, lowering your constitution, and the best recovery for that is a good, uninterrupted eight hours. So, he’ll leave you to replenish so that he may feast once again—one last time before he executes his final, ultimate plan; the whole reason he chose you to begin with and has been periodically parading around in this limited meat suit for years.

The maw of darkness under your bed beckons him to shake off the mortal form and take his rightful place as King among the shadows. Yoongi catches his reflection in the standing mirror across the room. The only thing distinct is the brilliant red eyes staring back at him. It feels good to stretch and dissolve into his proper form, shadows snaking along his limbs and filling his every breath.

You fidget on the bed, brow furrowing as your body reacts to the nearness of his proper form. He likes watching you twitch and shift, soft mewls of fright sounding low in your chest. If he wanted, he could swallow you whole, and you’d never be the wiser, one moment existing in your nightmare and the next slithering into the ether of what comes after. But, it’s not time…not yet.

Letting one of his long, spindly shadow fingers draw back in and reform into the echo of human flesh, he presses the blunt tip against your temple. You instantly quell your movements, and the pitiful cry in your chest subsides. Yoongi can feel the subtle tremble of your body, the vibrations skittering through your flesh as your body recognizes his hellish touch. Your subconscious is as familiar with his umbral form as your conscious is with the lies he’s used to frame how you see him with your eyes.

Digging through the screen of your nightmare, he pulls back the darkness and lets in just enough light to lull you into a false sense of security—something he does nearly every night after he’s fed from you so he doesn’t accidentally drain you dry. By the time he returns, the light will have faded from your dreams, and there will be just enough unfettered distress permeating the air of your bedroom to give him a top off of delicious fear, his own personal cup of pick-me-up.

Yoongi slides under the bed and into the darkness, leaving you to your deep, lambent dreams. He melts through the barrier between your world and his. Euphoria buzzes through him as his depth of power increases. That’s the biggest downfall of walking the mortal plane. There aren’t quite enough shadows or stinking fear to fill the neverending void inside him. But here, in the Realm of Darkness, the taste of terror is thick and nectarous. It lingers in the air and is as permanent as the oxygen you breathe in your world.

Yoongi drifts through the firmament of his domain, letting the worries and stress of what’s to come fade. For a being with endless power and control, he never thought he might have the need to be concerned over something seemingly so trivial. But, the ceremony and ritual he has planned for tomorrow night is easily the most critical thing he’s ever dared to accomplish.

The Realm of Darkness might be sufficiently filled with succulent fodder for him, but there are other limitations he encounters. Constraints that involve the worlds beyond his Kingdom. He doesn’t want just to be able to thrive here on his own turf. He has aspirations of letting his darkness seep into the outer realms—including yours—and if he has his way, you will help him do just that. The barriers will crumble, and he’ll be free to bathe the distant realms in his thick ichor of destruction.

Finally feeling more like himself, he aims for the Shadow Spire, where waits the Throne of the Damned—his throne. All it takes is a simple thought, and he’s standing in the sprawling cavern of the throne room. It stretches wide in all directions, having no end or beginning, just existing as his will needs.

Pillars of malachite soar into the air at equal intervals, disappearing into the glittering cosmos expanse above his head. Silvery flecks of light cast the whole room in a mockery of the night sky of your world, something he’s grown to admire over the years spent there. Yoongi takes a deep breath, soaking in the tangy, bitter stench of brimstone and copper. Soon, he hopes, your delectable perfume of fear will join them.

“Sire,” a gruff voice says in surprise. “We weren’t expecting you back until the ritual. Welcome, is there anything we can do for you?”

Yoongi settles his shadowy form on the monstrous broken stone pillar at the top of the dais that rises from the rocky floor. His court, ever vigilant in their duty to him, wait for him to respond. “Is everything prepared for the ceremony?” he asks, eyes finally landing on the six figures seated on the smaller stone plinths arrayed in a semi-circle in front of him—the Shadow Court once again complete with his return. Hopefully, he won’t have to leave the comfort of his court but one more time. Once the ritual is done, he shouldn’t have to so much as lift a finger to reach into the overworld.

“All is well and ready, Sire.” Wicked smiles spread like wildfire across the court. They’re just as excited as Yoongi is to be finally moving forward with the plan. None of them have tasted the kind of fear that Yoongi has feasted on from you—the fresh terror of the mortal realm—but if they had more corporeal forms, he knows they’d be salivating. Soon, so very soon.

Looking around at his companions, he can’t help but think how humorous it is that you so readily believed his deceptions about working for the human government. He remembers the day he finally stepped from the shadows and made himself known to you. You were immediately drawn to him and couldn't stop yourself from indulging in your curiosities like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yoongi had already come up with an elaborate backstory and characterization for the human he wanted to portray. He knew all of your deep, dark fantasies and brought them to life. Your eyes got round with awe and reverence when he first revealed his supposed job, confirming how gullible and under his spell you were. He can’t deny it’s worked in his favor.

He’s allowed to keep odd hours and disappear as needed. When he returns to your bed before the sun rises, he’ll leave you a note on your pillow about being pulled away for work. You’ll read it and sigh a dreamy sigh as you have every other time he’s done that. You never bother to seek further explanation—your trust in him is so wholly concrete.

There is satisfaction in the freedom you’ve granted him to embrace a darker side. It’s how he can get away with fucking you so callously that your brain warps it into some deranged form of love. You’ve chalked every depraved thing he’s done to you up to him needing an outlet after dealing with such heinous stuff for work. He only had to mention a few well-known acronyms, like FBI and CIA, and you accepted it. As scared as you are of the dark, he’s aware of the collection of slasher and horror novels you keep stuffed away under your bed and that you listen with rapt attention to those silly crime shows and podcasts that tell you he’s not the one you should be scared of. Soon, he won’t have to worry about any of that, though—no more silly backstory, no more hiding, no more stuffy mortal form, no more holding back. Tomorrow signifies a change, a new beginning. It’s the time when the veil between the worlds will be thin enough that he can drag you down without it sucking your life away. Some call it Samhain, Calan Gaeaf, Mischief Night, Halloween—it holds nearly as many names as Yoongi himself does—but for him, it will be the night he calls triumph. The night his shadows will lay a claim to you wholly; the night you stop fearing what goes bump in the night and instead stand by its side and let it consume you.

Wicked Delight

Consciousness comes in fits and spurts of clarity. There is a moment where you’re asleep but aware. With this awareness, you can discern and feel the potent darkness webbing across your subconscious. You’ve seen it before, the myriad of inky tendrils that zig-zag through the light like fissures over a dried river bed. It scares you but also fills you with intrigue so rich it nearly eclipses the fear.

You know that if you could just hang on to that in-between space, the feeling of teetering on the edge of a knife, you could examine the darkness further and figure out what it is and where it comes from. But your body has other plans, sucking you away from your inspection and pushing you toward uneasy wakefulness.

Shifting under the blankets, a crinkling noise draws your eyes open to land on a rumple of white paper lying beside you on the empty side of the bed. With fumbling fingers, you grab the ripped leaf of creamy parchment and turn it so you can see the blue scrawl of words.

Got some darkness to take care of. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Don’t forget; 11 pm sharp, beginning of the corn maze. X

There is no name signed to the note, just an X, but you know who left it, regardless. You roll over, holding the thin paper above you so you can see the faded, faint print under his ink. A smile tugs at your lips when you realize it’s a corner ripped from Kinder und Hausmärchen, one of Yoongi’s favorite books. He has an original first edition that he’s let you moon over a few times. The first time you found a note and saw what it was written on, you nearly crawled out of your skin to berate him for ruining such a prize. He gently chided you for your reaction and assured you it was just a copy, scanned and printed for the whimsy of it.

Looking closer, you see the corner is from a page of the Cat and Mouse in Partnership tale. Your smile fades, turning into a mild frown as an odd feeling ghosts beneath your skin, eliciting goosebumps to pop up along your arms. Sighing, you shake your head and pull the blanket up high under your chin, chalking the sensation up to being cold. Your eyes rove around the room, taking in the early morning light filtering in through your thin curtains, showing you just enough of the inside of your room to be comfortable with not having a light on.

Finally deciding there’s no point in dallying in bed further, you toss back the covers and brace yourself against the chill in your room. Only, it’s not as cold as you were anticipating. Opening the small drawer on your nightstand to deposit the message in with the dozens of others Yoongi has left you over the years, you can help but smile. They’re sweet, little pieces of him that affirm to you why it’s okay he disappears the way he does. The reminder comforts you, especially on this day.

Halloween has never been your favorite. Well, that’s not true, exactly. You do like Halloween—just the modern and more mainstream version with candy, pumpkins, and warm, spiced drinks. Fall colors are also something you enjoy. The cooler air is nice. You’re partial to cozy sweaters and boots, too.

All in all, you enjoy this time of the year. You just don’t necessarily like the darker parts, the scarier parts. Haunted houses and scary movies are things you could do without unless it’s under very specific circumstances. Such as having Yoongi there. Which is the only reason you’ve agreed to meet him at the festival tonight. You haven’t been since you were a teen and got so scared by the fright actors that you swore never to return.

Except, now, you are returning. It’s been on the tip of your tongue for the last week to cancel on Yoongi, feigning a head or stomach ache. But, the sheer excitement in his gaze when you agreed, has been enough to make you bite your tongue every time a protest bubbles up. You can—and will—do this.

With an entire day to go before your date with Yoongi, you busy yourself with mundane tasks. A bit of cleaning, some light reading, and lastly, dumping a few bags of assorted and prepackaged candies into a bright orange bowl with a goofy jack-o-lantern face printed on the side.

You’re usually a porchlight-off kind of person. Still, this year, considering your own venture outside your proverbial Halloween box, you decided why not go the extra mile for others, too? Even if one kid dumps the entire bowl into their treat bag, you’ll at least feel somewhat accomplished in your attempt.

Setting the bowl on your doorstep, you stand back and survey it. The yellow-tinged porch light illuminates the candy and the plastic pumpkins you have arranged on either side of your door. You contemplate adding a ‘please take only one’ sign for the bowl but decide a paper warning isn’t much of a deterrent. Leaving the candy to its fate, you head back inside to finish getting ready.

Time flows in a weird, out-of-body kind of way. You’re aware of pulling on your coat and walking into your garage through the kitchen—even the process of driving to the festival registers in your mind. But, you’re genuinely not cognisant of what you’re doing until you’re staring at the large flashing sign for the festival. You have to practically put on blinders to make it through the ticketing process, ignoring the scare actors as you wait in line.

The corn maze is at the center of it all, meaning you keep your eyes glued to the ground as you skirt the edges of the food stalls and game stands until you reach it. There, you wait, standing at the start of the corn maze and stare at your watch, counting the seconds as they tick by with the small hand.

The air is cool, the crisp scent of fall heavy around you. Laughter and faint screams carry to you from the festival surrounding the maze. The giant corn labyrinth is the center of the entire two-week-long event. Thousands of people flock from near and far to venture within the husked, cream-colored stalks.

If you make it through the maze without assistance from the scare actors, then you get an entire bucket of caramel popcorn drizzled with chocolate. That’s never been enough of a reward for you to try. Even the last time you were here, you never stepped foot into the clustered embrace of the maze.

The festival is lit enough with all the twinkling lights and fair games lining the thoroughfares and the midway. Food trucks and stalls litter through the vendors with stuffed animals and cackling clowns. You try to ignore the bodies that sway and shamble through the crowd—the scare actors. They’re just people dressed up in costume and makeup, but they still elicit that flighty feeling in your belly, that little trickle of fear.

At the ticket booths, there were neon green necklaces you could purchase. You used them as a distraction while you waited in line. They’re ‘no scare’ necklaces, big bright indicators that you’re a sensitive little bitch that doesn’t want to be scared. At least, that’s how you felt looking at them, considering buying one. You know they’re an extremely valid item, a protective emblem that many people need, and that it’s perfectly fine—in fact, it’s encouraged for people to use them if they need to.

As you fingered the green nylon of the lanyard, you couldn’t help chewing your bottom lip, worrying at it until it cracked under your teeth and the coppery tang of blood danced across your tongue. You almost bought it…maybe you should have. However, the fact that you’re half-hidden by the corn maze sign and doing everything in your power not to draw unwanted attention to yourself seems to be keeping you from attracting the actors your way.

The tiny hand on your watch ticks away, drawing closer to turning over the minute, which'll turn over the hour to 11 PM. Sharp. Yoongi’s insistence. Just as the hands come together on your watch, you feel that telltale tingling feeling of eyes on you. It’s a familiar sensation, one you often associate with Yoongi. Daring to step out from behind the sign to the corn maze, you spin in a slow circle, trying to catch sight of him.

“Looking for someone?”

You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle the shriek that rips from your chest as those words drift in from right behind you. So close that it’s impossible to imagine you hadn’t noticed him approaching you as you looked around.

“Yoongi,” you sigh, dropping your hand.

He's enveloping you from behind before you can turn around and give him a pouty yet stern look. His familiar musk and warmth ease your heart back from its hammering gallop. “You’re good enough to eat,” he gruffly murmurs, pressing his nose into the fabric of your coat at the juncture of your shoulder and neck. You can feel more than hear his deep inhalation, as if he’s drawing in the scent of your very soul and branding it throughout his olfactory system.

“The maze closes in an hour. Are you sure we can make it to the center before then?” you ask, voice light and airy as relief infused with drips of serotonin weaken your knees and your resolve to be upset with him for frightening you. You turn in his arms, keen to look upon his face for another kick of comfort, but it sours in your belly when you take in his pulled-up hood and the thick black gaiter covering the bottom half of his face. “What’s that for?”

Yoongi shrugs, shoulders lifting in his typical nonchalant manner. “It’s Halloween. Consider me dressed for the occasion.” He winks at you, but it does nothing to quell the unease still rolling around just beneath your surface. Feigning that stomachache is starting to sound more and more appealing, Yoongi’s excitement be damned.

“You look like a burglar.”

You can’t see his smile, but you can tell it’s there by how his eyes crinkle and lids lower mischievously. “And you look ripe for the burgling.”

“You’re insufferable,” you gripe teasingly, finally letting a smile grace your face despite the lingering anxiety. It’s easy to forget your fears and worries when you’re looking into his umber-colored gaze.

“Come on, let’s go.” Yoongi offers you his elbow, and you tuck your hand into the crook of it, leaning your shoulder against his arm.

The fleece-lined leggings you chose to wear keep you warm enough, paired with the knit sweater and thick tweed coat covering your top half. Your chunky boots are comfortable and practical for the slightly uneven terrain of the cornfield-turned-maze. Yoongi is far more casual in just jeans, the hoodie, and a pair of dusty and worn sneakers.

You study his face the best you can past the edge of his hood and out of the corner of your eye. He’s just as handsome as always. Even the black fabric covering the bottom half of his face doesn’t detract from his allure, which seems to be intensified by the deepening darkness around you as he leads you through the maze entrance.

A festival worker stands off to the side in full-on farmer-gore. Their overalls are covered in faux viscera, and there is a bloodied sling blade dangling from their off-hand as they beckon you and Yoongi forward with their other.

“Tonight's savior phrase is ‘Pumpkin Guts’, yell it out if you need assistance navigating the maze, and a helper will assist you,” he offers before turning to the next patron approaching a few feet behind you and Yoongi and giving them the same information.

“Pumpkin Guts,” Yoongi scoffs with a quiet laugh. “Surely they could have come up with something far more fitting than that.”

“I find it kind of nice. The childish charm of it helps make a situation like getting lost in the maze less scary, don’t you think?”

His eyes look more onyx now that you’re within the maze, the only illumination coming from tiny, sparse fairy lights. They catch your gaze, and you see a smile tilt up the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “That’s adorable.”

“What?” you laugh, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks.

Yoongi shakes his head, his smile growing. “You always find the good in everything. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

All the residual anxiety from earlier bleeds away with just that singular statement. You press in closer to Yoongi and angle your face up in silent request, to which he immediately obliges. He hooks a finger in the lip of his gaiter and pulls it down so he can slant his mouth over yours. His lips are warmer than usual, his breath carrying faint hints of bourbon as he teasingly slips his tongue through the seam of your lips. All too soon, he’s pulling away, leaving you with just that small taste of him. The gaiter slides back into place, and he nods ahead of you. “The quicker we make it to the center, the quicker you get the surprise I have waiting for you.”

“A surprise?” you ask, thoroughly intrigued. 

His affirming hum in response turns into a soft chuckle as you eagerly quicken your steps, tugging him along beside you. As someone who isn’t partial to being shocked or scared, it’s perhaps a bit ironic that you love surprises of the unknown. They just have to be the right kind—like one from Yoongi; er, well, at least the ones that don’t involve him sitting on your bed in the dark as you open the bathroom door or so you tell yourself—but you digress.

Though, perhaps there is a bit of enjoyment from those kinds of surprises, too. In a twisted, semi-fucked up way, the surge of adrenaline is like a counterweight to the dopamine response from your amygdala that follows any time you get frightened. The perfect balance of emotions. The fight or flight reflex makes your body feel like it’s keyed up with extra energy, leaving you feeling like you’ve just run a mile or fucked for an hour. It’s maybe a little unhinged to salivate over those small sips of terror secretly. Does that make you a masochist?

You’d almost think Yoongi picks up on your inner thoughts with the way he makes an amused sound in the back of his throat and gives you a sidelong, knowing look. Something tingles beneath your skin, an electric feeling akin to loose ambitions. It seems tonight won’t be so bad after all.

The crunch of dried corn husks and hay accompanies the occasional scream or laugh echoing from various points in the maze. You’ve only led Yoongi to a dead-end a handful of times so far, but the anxiety at not having found the center of the maze yet is starting to mount.

“I can feel your stress in the tension in your hand,” Yoongi muses softly. “Relax, you’ll get your surprise.”

“What if they close the maze before we make it to the center, though?”

“They won’t.”

You cut a quick glance at him. He looks smug. “You seem so sure, but from my count,” you shift your attention to your watch, “we only have fifteen minutes before the festival closes, and I’d guess we’re nowhere near the center yet.”

Yoongi shrugs. “I may have paid the vendor to let us stay as long as we need.”

“You did what?”

“Tonight’s special,” Yoongi tugs you to a stop, his hands engulfing yours, and gives you a pointed look. “Very special.” The thumb of his right hand grazes over the expanse of skin above the knuckle on your left ring finger. “Now, let’s go find the center…and your surprise.”

A new sensation trickles in–excitement. Your heart patters faster as you turn and haul Yoongi on with renewed vigor. Gone is any trepidation; in its place, nothing but giddy and barely veiled anticipation. And to think, you’d almost been silly and canceled on him.

🖤🖤🖤

Yoongi

Yoongi wasn’t exaggerating when he said you look good enough to eat tonight. If only you knew how close to an accurate statement that was. He’s had a constant flow of moisture seeping into his mouth since he laid eyes on you standing behind the wooden sign for the maze. He had just finished setting up the surprise for you in the center, utilizing his natural form in order to move quickly without being seen.

All the implements he needs await him at the maze's center. The theatrics of it all are only for fun. He could have simply taken you without them. But he’s always been partial to playing with his food before devouring it. The pungency of your anxiety as you waited was a delightful appetizer to what is sure to be a satiating main course.

Every time you make a wrong turn in the maze, Yoongi can feel the tension in your muscles and the momentary disappointment that flavors your scent. It’s amusing watching you shuffle your feet and grumble under your breath before turning and backtracking.

It’s not lost to him the amount of uncertainty you’ve had ever since he asked you to go with him tonight. Not that he would have given you a choice in the end; he’d have taken you by force if needed. But he’s a passive creature at best, so the less work he has to do, the better.

Using the ruse of there being a surprise waiting for you isn’t entirely untrue. Though, the treat he’s confident that he’s planted the idea of in your head is far different from what’s actually going to happen. He’s spent enough time in the mortal realm to know what you’d have interpreted from him stroking that particular finger with the right look in his eye. Your heart had gone into a frenzy of thick, heavy beats, and your eyes had lit up with wonder.

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he knows what’s driving your feet to move as quickly as they are now. It’ll just make the disappointment taste that much sweeter. Over the five years he’s been administering to you, molding you into the perfect vessel, he’s learned the small nuances that make you tick. Whether it’s for eliciting fear or excitement, desire or anguish, he knows exactly how to produce the results he wants.

“Ugh,” you grumble for the dozenth time when you turn a corner and come to another dead end. “This is impossible. How can you find enjoyment in these things?”

Yoongi smirks. “It’s quite analytical if you really want me to answer that.” The way your nose wrinkles when he says that is positively adorable. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

You gleefully cede the lead, letting him guide you back and toward a different direction entirely. You’re still excited, bubbling with positive anticipation, even though you’re no longer playing the game, per se. It’s interesting how you so quickly relinquish the hunt—he’d never.

The noise of the festival and maze has long since fizzled away. He didn’t actually pay the attendant. He’s just using some of his ability to mask your presence from anyone who might get in the way. Some of the lights from the midway are still going, and a few rides are lit up. However, the deeper Yoongi leads you into the labyrinth, the darker it becomes. He’s confident you’re so wound up that you don’t even notice how his shadows grow and stretch along the narrow walkway around you.

“Oh, look!” You excitedly point at the opening that comes into view at the end of the row. “I can smell the popcorn. Did that bribe include a bucket waiting for us, too?”

Yoongi has no idea if there is popcorn waiting, but he imagines you’re only smelling the lingering scent. He can’t detect anyone else within a hundred-meter radius around the maze. If the prospect of popcorn makes you happy, then sure. “Of course it did. We’ll need a snack once I’m done with you.” Which mostly isn’t true, though he can’t be sure. Yoongi has never shadow-turned a human before, much less taken a mate in the process. You might be ravenous by the time he’s done; though, he’d bet it won’t be popcorn you’ll be craving.

There is a distinct moment where Yoongi can feel the shift in your demeanor. Your excitement dips into confusion as you take in the finish line area that’s deserted of anyone and anything other than the large 10 ft square structure he erected in the middle. The raw malachite plinths are so dark the lindworm-colored stone seems to absorb the illuminance around them, turning the gateway into a giant pit of darkness that devours the faint twinkling lights. Shadows bleed from the open space between the pillars, reaching for their master.

Yoongi’s blood sings with desire as fear trickles in with the confusion. “Yoongi,” you whisper his name, and it warbles from your lips oh so beautifully. “What’s that?”

“That’s your future, my love.” He untangles himself from your grip, circling you like a predator. “Now, run!” he snarls from right behind you.

You don’t even scream when he shoves you forward, your arms windmilling and boots tripping over the scatter of dried corn husks before you topple headlong between the pillars. The last thing he sees before the waiting shadows swallow you is the whites of your eyes as you throw a panicked look over your shoulder at him.

It’s mildly disappointing that you didn’t even so much as grunt or give him any sort of satisfaction that you’re petrified other than the cloying perfume of your terror that settles on his tongue when he huffs in irritation. Hopefully, when he follows you through the gateway, you’ll already be on the run because he’s in the mood to play a while longer before he shatters the world as you know it.

Yoongi wants you to recognize him, so he only casts off some of his mortal form, choosing to keep his face and most of his body intact. What changes is his size; he grows larger, arms and legs longer, fingers more like talons, and eyes the dark red of fresh blood.

He knows he looks monstrous, even more so with the cloth still covering the lower half of his face and the hoodie now ripped and hanging from his physique. As soon as he slides through the barrier of the gateway, he’s met with that euphoric sound he hoped for earlier. Your scream rends through the thick, stale air of the Realm of Darkness, music to his ears.

“That’s my girl,” Yoongi crows, his voice gravelly and distorted by his natural form. He inhales deeply, sucking in your dismay's succulent and divine fragrance. “Fuck.”

You scream again as he steps toward you, which spurs you into gaining your feet, not even caring to look at the soot-like substance caking your hands and knees. Yoongi can only imagine the thoughts warring inside your pretty little head right now. Wild fear makes your eyes flick frantically around before you choose a direction and sprint at breakneck speed between the skeletal trees surrounding this side of the gateway.

He chose the Forest of Decay specifically because it provides the perfect environment for a chase. It allows him to easily keep up with you while giving the illusion of protection. There’s also not a single nook or cranny Yoongi isn’t intimately familiar with; after all, he can’t have you finding some unknown hole to burrow into.

The flash and flicker of your coat draws his attention as it zigs and zags through the petrified sentinels of the forest. Their long, gnarled branches reach far, entwining overhead like a macabre endless bird's nest. It creates a dim atmosphere, with the faintest hint of light bleeding through the limbs. Each tree is about a foot wide and twenty feet high, the ground covered in sooty ash; it’s an ideal playground.

“Leave me alone!” you sob when Yoongi lets you catch another glimpse of him.

Yoongi shudders as a fresh, new wave of terror undulates from you and washes over him. “No can do, my queen.”

The thrill of the chase adds kindling to Yoongi’s need to consume you whole. Every step you take is reckless. You throw yourself around trees so fast you nearly hit the next. The spacing between the trees is relatively narrow, just a few feet at most. Still, with the way you’re barreling through them, you’ve already accumulated a few scratches and minor lacerations from the dried bark, feet kicking up small puffs of ash with every frantic step. The tangy, sweet scent of your blood makes him salivate. The thick, viscous drool coating his tongue will make it all that easier to fuck you with it once he catches you.

Lumbering on behind you, Yoongi intentionally stomps and makes as much noise as possible. Every crack and thump he makes has a whimper shivering from your throat. The thick appendage between his monstrous thighs swells with each terrified sound you make. Fucking you in his proper form will be such a treat. Surely, it’ll be far better than any sex he’s had with the limits of his human body, even if he does love the way your softness compliments his.

But there is nothing soft about Yoongi now—not when he has such a tasty morsel running and screaming so prettily for him. He’s all hard edges and thick muscle. A manic chuckle bubbles in his chest as he leaps ahead, hounding your heels.

It’s comical, ironic even, when he watches your foot catch on a high root hidden by a pile of ash, and you go sprawling on the ground before him. He’s seen enough of those cheesy horror films so fervently worshiped in your world to know how funny this is.

“Please, no! Leave me alone!” you beg through ragged breaths. Your face and hair are marked with scratches, flecks of dried bark, and the pewter-colored ash covering the ground.

An appreciative moan works its way free of Yoongi as he stands over you, swaying like he’s drunk. Which, maybe he is. There is a faint buzzing in his ears, and if he opens his eyes too wide, your image doubles. Two of you; he grins wickedly at the prospect. Now, that would be a definite treat.

As it is, there’s only you; that will be sufficient for what Yoongi has planned. He looms over you, and the backward-bending joints of his knees give slightly as he towers across your prone form. Your eyes pan over his arched body, perhaps for the first time, taking it in with true clarity. Yoongi lets his skin ripple between human and proper form, coalescing and whirling with shadows.

With a flex of darkness, he rends the remnants of his clothes. The ripping of the seams and subsequent soft plop of the ruined fabrics echo through the suddenly silent space. You’re barely even breathing as you take him in, eyes landing on the swinging cock that nearly brushes your belly as he places a gnarled hand beside your head in the ash.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, though it comes out more like sand in a grinder. Lowering further, Yoongi nudges your chin with his nose, guiding your head sideways to give him unfettered access to your throat. Pressing into the crook of your neck, he huffs hot breath over your skin, rejoicing in the instinctive reaction. Your skin prickles and flushes with goosebumps, and a thick cloud of potent fear wafts up as your pulse hammers away beneath his lips.

“P-please,” you whimper through trembling lips. Tears stream down your cheek and drip off the bridge of your nose. Their salty tang mixes with the sweetness of terror pervading the air.

That word, spoken in that way…it does something to Yoongi. He groans, nipping at the skin of your neck with his blunted teeth before letting them elongate so he can adequately graze your papery-thin flesh. You cry out when they slice through, leaving behind thin blood trickles and shallow scratches.

Your blood is laced with fear, blooming on his tongue like an ambrosia of the gods. “You’ve always begged so prettily, my queen. You’re a treasure, and I’m so glad I found you all those years ago, so innocent and unsuspecting—my perfect mate.”

The next scream that leaves your lips is guttural, full of panic and delirium as Yoongi takes his first pull from your body. Thin wisps of black shadow thread from his lips to yours. They pulse with every drag he takes. He’s fed from you thousands of times, but never like this—never so profoundly.

Fear, terror, horror, fright…it’s all the same, and yet Yoongi is almost sure he can taste the distinction. Like a fine wine, you have tasting notes that vary with every sip. By the fifth breath, your body has grown slack, your eyes wide and glassy. Tears still stream down your face but in silence.

Yoongi watches your pallor grow sickly, waxy as sweat pearls along your hairline and temples. Draining you is a delicate affair, something he’s both dreaded and looked forward to for so long. Watching the fire that he loves so much bleed from your eyes and the vigor leech from your skin pangs him with a foreign sensation, something akin to mourning? He realizes now he will mourn the loss of your human form, even if it’s far inferior to what he will turn you into.

With one final shuddering gasp, the darkest, thickest tendril of shadow snakes its way between your parted lips. Your fingers and limbs spasm as the inky darkness roots in deep, tethering itself to you like the strings of a marionette. It pulls tight in Yoongi’s own chest, cementing his essence to yours. As a barbed ring of shadow settles on the ring finger of your left hand, the bond snaps into place, and chaos ensues.

🖤🖤🖤

You’ve never experienced such visceral fear before. It’s consumed every fiber of your being. You’re no longer who you once were and will never be the same again. You are simply fear incarnate.

A boiling starts beneath your skin, beginning at the tips of your fingers and toes before rolling through to the center of your chest, where it pops and sizzles like dry ice in tepid water, so cold it burns.

It’s like flipping a coin. One minute, you are experiencing insurmountable terror, and the next, you exude it. Nothing can scare you now, not even the monster sitting a few feet away watching you with calculated eyes—familiar eyes, eyes you’ve lost yourself in more times than you can count.

They’re not as cold as they were a moment ago. You distinctly remember how those red eyes softened right before you felt yourself float away. It’s Yoongi, you know this, but it’s also not. He’s different, and it’s not even the deformed, gangly shadow form that makes up his body, either. There’s something more, something that draws you in, like an anchor dragging you into his deepest, darkest depths. He’s a vast ocean, and you’re pretty sure what he just did was akin to drowning you—killing you.

Only you don’t feel dead.

Quite the opposite, in fact. For the first time in your existence, you feel truly alive; and not in the living sense but in the eternal sense. You have no ending or beginning; you exist as you will yourself to be.

With that thought, your body urges you to change, to morph into a far more comfortable form. Darkness seeps from your pores, cascading out of your skin until it becomes a mockery of its former self, and it feels good—so good.

“What have you done to me?” Your voice sounds different, soft yet sultry. It reminds you of black silk and lace, devious and coy, with the perfect mix of husk and drawl.

Yoongi lets out a slow breath, the sound like dry leaves crackling. “Made you mine.”

“What…what are we?”

The soft ash sifts between your now exposed toes, the boots you once wore laying in peeled strips along with tattered remnants of your clothes. Nudity has never been an issue for you, but it’s as if you have no inhibitions at all now. The shadows around your body contort to form curves and perfect swells.

“We have many names. Demons, bogeymen…it’s all very fitting, yet doesn’t quite capture the truth. What I am—what we are—is darkness, fear, terror, and shadow. We are infinite, endless, and everything all at once.”

“Why me?” you whisper. That tether inside of you pulses, pulling tight as you shift and try to put distance between yourself and Yoongi. It’s like a rope around your throat, pulling you up short.

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips quirking in amusement. “This is the Realm of Darkness—my domain,” he gestures broadly with a clawed hand, “and it was all I had access to until I found a way to enter yours. Once I tasted the sweet nectar of fear it provided and the power it allowed me access to, I couldn’t stop my curiosity and need for more. Then I found you, and I knew you would be the perfect compliment to my aspirations, just the thing I needed to break the barriers completely.”

He straightens up, and the way his body catches your attention has a heat flaring somewhere deep in your being. Your eyes lock on the dark sinews and plump muscles that stretch and contract as Yoongi moves to crouch in front of you. The ribbed and notched cock swaying between his thighs dribbles a thick, viscous line of lavender-colored arousal.

Tearing your eyes from the sight of it, you force yourself to look into his feral, red eyes. His explanation is both confusing and clear at the same time. You understand it, but know that you should be railing against it because it’s morally incomprehensible. You’ve essentially been kidnapped and forced into what this is. Yet…yet—“I feel…” you trail off, trying to find the right word to describe it.

“Powerful,” Yoongi offers with a knowing, pointed-tooth grin.

“Powerful,” you repeat, letting the word roll around your tongue before nodding. Perhaps that’s why you are shrugging off your cares and the moral compass that has seemingly forgotten how to point north.

The subtle smell of burnt wood and sulfur hits you as Yoongi raises a hand to fit across the front of your throat. Those too-long fingers engulf it, sending a shiver down your new body. Instead of your belly filling up with fear, it fills with desire and need. You no longer need to battle the terror, letting it drip away from you instead.

“Look at you. You’re so perfect. You don’t feel scared, but that’s only because this realm leeches it away and devours it before it can poison your mind, leaving behind nothing but how you truly feel.”

You know there has always been a darkness inside you, something that even you feared to face head-on. After all, it must take some kind of crazy to be both scared of the dark and want to embrace it. It’s not just the way Yoongi plied your body and made you forget to care about being proper and good. Is this what you were made for—all the fright and terror you’ve experienced and secretly sought out leading you to this very moment here?

All it takes is one look at Yoongi to know the truth.

You were created for this, crafted to be precisely what Yoongi needed, just as he said.

With that moment of clarity and acceptance, a new sensation slithers down your spine. A lasciviousness that has you moaning in surprise. 

“Fuck,” you grind out between clenched teeth.

“Gladly,” Yoongi chuckles, his red eyes taking on a lecherous gleam. “Let’s unleash your darkness on the realms, my queen.”

Between one breath and the next, your knees are splayed wide, and Yoongi has his face buried between your thighs. All it takes is one languid swipe of his long, broad tongue to have you cursing again. Caustic words fall from your mouth, laced with vitriol as it’s unfair how good it feels. It’s like every inch of contact between your body and his writes itself across what was once your soul.

“Mmmph,” you moan incoherently as the beginning of an orgasm lashes against your insides. Yoongi greedily sucks and licks, tongue laving over your throbbing clit before sliding between your contracting walls.

A tsunami of darkness crashes out from within you, blanketing the surrounding forest in shadow. Wisps of clarity ebb and flow, drifting along with the gloom until Yoongi grounds you with an exceptionally sharp pinch to one of your nipples.

“Almost there,” he announces gleefully, licking his lips before launching forward and forcing you onto your back.

Yoongi feels like fire against you, his body scorching everywhere it touches. You expect to feel the soft ash against your back but the only sensation that ebbs in is a cool aeration against the exposed skin between your shoulder blades.

Monstrous arms wrap around you as Yoongi slots his too-big mouth over yours, invading you with his slick, serpentine tongue. Your eyes flutter open, and you catch a glimpse of a pewter sky beyond the scraggy branches that are suddenly closer overhead.

You try to pull away from his devouring kiss to alert him to the jagged web of dry wood about to scrape his back, but he growls and renews his effort to shove his tongue as far into your mouth as possible. Snaps and cracks fill the air, and wood explodes around you.

Realization dawns as more should-be-fear-turned-lust pours through your body and expands beyond it, filling the sky around you with a murky darkness. The power of that emotion propels you further, sending you and Yoongi far above the landscape to suspend over the entirety of the Realm of Darkness, leaving a streamer of smoke-like essence in your wake.

Yoongi throws his head back, finally relenting from the kiss. His broad chest heaves against yours, and his red eyes are wild as they roll manically before landing on you. “How is this possible?” you pant, hands gripping the muscles of his shoulders tightly.

“Anything is possible here,” he whispers fervently before spinning you so fast your vision blurs. The horizon spans as far as you can see around you. You and Yoongi are hundreds of feet higher than even the tallest mountain peak. Everything is a monochrome grey, black, or in-between. A jagged line of mountains rear to your right while inky streams and rivers zig zag to your left. It’s a hideously beautiful display that contradicts all scenic views you’ve ever seen, yet is better than all of them combined.

“Oh, God,” you whimper when Yoongi forces your legs wide and slots his hips between them from behind. Shadows billow around you, charged with energy that crackles and sizzles, barely restrained from being unleashed to wreak untold havoc.

Thin fingers slide around to cup the front of your throat, giving a none too gentle squeeze. Yoongi snarls, “There is no God here. We are the gods!” His declaration is punctuated by the head of his cock prodding against your sopping cunt. This new body is already eager to pleasure Yoongi and receive pleasure in kind.

His hips kick forward, and you feel every delicious ridge and ripple along his thick shaft. It feels like he invades the pit of your stomach, filling you to the brink. It’s a rush of wicked delight, pure erotic rapture.

You moan again, this time invoking the only name left on your tongue, “Yoongi!”

“I’ve been looking forward to fucking you like this for five years,” he grunts, emphasizing the words with his hips pumping against your ass in brutal strokes. “Claiming you wholly, decorating the world with our combined shadows. Look how they writhe for you, waiting for you to command them. Let go.”

Your eyes roll from side to side, taking in the dark, undulating forms stretching wide around you. With each prick of pleasure Yoongi insights in your body, they branch and roil further out, creating the foundation for your own personal bedlam. 

Like a bounty won at the end of a hunt, Yoongi ravishes your body with his. He’s brutal, unrelenting and wanton. The hand on your throat tugs with every slam of his hips, bowing your back and forcing you to peer out at the Kingdom begging for your rule. Darkness beseeches you, screaming for your glory and power as it pours out and blankets the sky.

Your world narrows to one pin point of coherency. Yoongi. He is nothing and everything all at once. He is the beginning and the end—fear, loathing, lust, and madness…through it all, he is infinite. And he’s yours.

With one final, shuddering breath you let go; welcoming the darkness once and for all.

“Yes.” The word, whispered from your parted lips, is sucked away with the maelstrom that detonates around and within you.

You barely hear the guttural, primal roar that emits from Yoongi as he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with his terrible darkness. You shatter into a multitude of shards, a glittering storm that dances through the ether, sparking and catching on the thin membrane that stretches between the realms. All it takes is one weak point, a small breach in the barrier, and everything falls apart.

It’s glorious, feeling yourself everywhere all at once. Your body is still fluttering around Yoongi, sucking and welcoming his release into your soul. But, your consciousness is spread wide, bleeding through the nexus of this realm and the one you once called home.

The mortal realm bows to your will. You can feel the beings of the Realm of Darkness funneling toward the broken gateways, pouring through to consume and conquer with the whisper of your glory on their tongues. Fear reigns supreme, consuming everything in its path as you expand your hold on the darkness.

“My Queen of Darkness,” the ephemeral coo caresses your ear, phantom lips brushing along your shadows. Yoongi’s darkness blends with yours, adding to the pulse that seeps to all corners of existence. “No longer will you fear, as you are fear itself…glorious, neverending fear.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-10-23 ColorMePurplex2

#min yoongi #yoongi x reader #bogeymanyoongie #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi imagines #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts yoongi #bts halloween #bts fanfic #bts horror #bts smut #bts angst #bts imagines #btscreaturescoven #micdropnet #bangtanwhq

[kiss-seokjin]

My Time, Our Time

Synopsis: Your V-card will be lost one way or another, why not lose it together with your boyfriend of two years?

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre/ au: smut, fluff, established relationship, university au, pwp

Rating: 18+

Word count: 656

Warnings: Loss of virginity

Smut warnings: Missionary, protected sex, grinding, making out, groping, aftercare, big dick Jungkook

Ty @mimikookie for beta-ing for me!

You eagerly push Jungkook onto the mattress. He smiles as you climb on top of him. Straddling Jungkook, you grind into him. Your lips press against one another as your hands roam each other’s bodies. While he is some months younger than you, you’re still both the same age – twenty. For a split second you get a flashback of when you first met: two years ago in one of your gen ed classes. His bright doe eyes and bunny smile lighting up when you both realized you shared multiple classes together.

The feeling of his growing member pressing against your core makes you feel more needy. As your hips sway into his, your lips pry each other open, tongues meeting. You eagerly unbutton his shirt, yanking it off as quickly as you can and throwing it aside. You slide off your shirt and hastily undo your bra. Throwing them aside, Jungkook sees your bare chest for the first time. His hands grope your breasts, his eyes open in an odd fascination.

Soon his member bulges in his pants and Jungkook groans.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he mutters.

“Ready?” you ask and he eagerly nods. You roll off him, allowing him to get up. As you remove your pants and panties, Jungkook finishes undressing and grabs a condom. He removes the package and puts it on. When he looks up, he sees you on the bed, legs spread, your pussy open in full glory. He groans at the sight as you eye his girth. It’s huge, you think to yourself.

Jungkook walks over and climbs onto the bed. Crawling between your legs, he positions himself above you. You wrap your arms around his back as he holds your hips, placing his cock at your entrance.

He looks at you with his doe eyes, now dark from desire, asking one last time for permission. You softly nod and he presses into you. You grit your teeth as you feel your walls expand for the first time. Jungkook coos at you, kissing your lips as he stops part way in, allowing you to adjust. It’s all so much.

Your walls slowly loosen up as you relax, so Jungkook pushes deeper gradually. Inch by inch, he slides into you - slowly filling you up. Finally, he’s fully inside you, letting you adjust once again. 

You sigh, easing into his touch. It’s not like what you expected at all.

Once you're ready, you nod at him again. Jungkook pulls out halfway before thrusting back into you. His thrusts are soft and gentle, slowly making the bed bounce. Jungkook whimpers as he thrusts, feeling your walls suck his cock as he goes back into you.

His balls graze you, catching you off guard as the bed creaks. You moan, your pleasure slowly building. You softly smile while Jungkook glides into you, gasping when he grazes your cervix.

“Mmm, Jungkook,” you mutter without thinking. His face lights up a bit at that and he slightly picks up pace.

He continues to thrust at this speed, but not for long as his hips shake and buckle. He gives one final deep thrust before cumming. He groans in pleasure and you wrap your legs around his waist. You grind against him to ride him through it.

When he’s done, you let go of him as he slides out, plopping next to you. You cuddle up next to him, mostly satisfied but wishing you could have come too.

“Can I top next time?” you ask.

“Sure,” Jungkook replies, a soft smile coming across his face. He gently kisses you, lips lingering for a moment before he pulls away. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Aish!”

Jungkook smothers your faces and neck with kisses as you squirm in delight. You love him so much.

As he pulls away, he flashes his bunny grin. 

“Want to wash off together?” Jungkook asks.

“I’d love to koo,” you reply, smiling back.

#micdropnet #bangtantheatrenet #kbookshelf #52hertz #btswritersclub #bts #fanfic #jungkook #smut #fluff #established relationship

[taetheists]

beanie bunny

#bts #btsgifs #jungkook #micdropnet #esmetracks #shirleytothesea #heyryen #usersky #trackofthesoul #dailybangtan #dailybts #userbangtan #kvanity #annietrack #tusercelia #boongietrack #usermaggie #usersan #userkelli #useremmeline #bangtanedit #btsedit #*samstuff #*gifs

[sugarwithtea]

prologue (tmp) | knj

your boyfriend breaks up with you and when you tell the reason to your roommate, he offers to help you out — in a way totally unexpected.

pairing : roommate!joon x reader (f) rating/genre : 18+ // smut, hurt/comfort, roommates au, fwb au. warnings : none except insecurities wc : 1.1k note : the chapters will also be the same length as this one haha!! hope you like it!

masterlist (series) | main masterlist

-------------

Once again, you fail.

You sigh and slump back against your headboard, tired of the situation you have found yourself in for the upteenth time. Your hands fist at your bedsheets in frustration as a tear slips past your eye.

You should not be so affected by the words of a guy who doesn't even know what he wants for himself. But somewhere, you know he tells the truth. You are inexperienced, it doesn't need a genius to figure it out. But you are tired of your little relationships ending due to that reason. It's absurd to think that these people get with you and later think they can't be much bothered by your ass.

You groan and get up, slowly trudging towards the living room. As you open the door of your bedroom, you are met with darkness, and you assume Namjoon has already retired to bed. But as you walk further into the living room, a faint light catches your eye and you see Namjoon camping on the couch with his laptop on his lap and eyebrows drawn taut. The soft light of the screen illuminates his face and you see how concentrated he is, probably finishing up his report– or watching something as you see his fingers don't move and different colors flash across his face.

You walk towards him slowly, lazily, and it's as if on cue that he pulls out his earphones and looks up at you, a slow smile building up on his lips.

"Hey– omg Y/N, you are crying?" his peaceful tone immediately switches to one of concern when he spots you with tears in your face. You sniff with a chuckle as you wipe them away with your sweater paws and he hastily shuts his laptop, keeping it away and sitting up straighter.

He extends his hand out to you and you take it without second thought, rushing to sit beside him as he wraps and arm around your shoulder, letting go of your hand. He looks at you with a look you can't decipher – half because of the lack of light in the room and half because of your already blurry gaze.

"What happened?" His voice is soft, and it makes your worries fade away, if only a little.

"We, we broke up." you provide and he sighs, as if expecting that very reply. In hindsight, it should hurt you that your relationships and their early demise is so predictable that people don't even try twice before putting in their guesses. But, it's also the blatant truth. And you have known Namjoon for more than two years now, so you understand that his reaction is from no place of contempt.

His thumb rubs soft circles on the skin of your forearm and he pulls you in a little, understanding you. It's when he says your name again, in a comforting way, that you spill.

"He said," a chuckle makes its way past your lips as you recall the ridiculous reasoning of your now ex boyfriend, "he said that I am way too inexperienced for his taste." you finish, and even though you don't expect Namjoon to react instantly, you don't get any reply from him for a few too many seconds which makes you turn your head towards him.

You find him looking at you with wide eyes and slightly parted lips, as if he was going to say something but stopped before the syllables rolled off his tongue. As soon as he notices your eyes on him, he closes his mouth and gulps, before speaking.

"He said what?"

You laugh, forgetting that this is the first time you are actually spilling your breakup woes to your roommate. Usually if he asks the reason, you play it down, too embarrassed to let him know the actual one– but this time, you didn't hold back. Something you know you will overthink later but right now you can't care much.

"Yeah. He's not the first one though." A furrow forms between his eyebrows and he throws a look at you which shouts 'explain' and so, you do.

"I don't have much sexual experience. And sometimes, it has been the cause of the demise of my relationships. Though only three of them have met the same fate as this one, it's still a thing now for me." you don't think your explanation is understandable, but your roommate understands you.

"That's ridiculous."

"I know." you whine, punctuating your sudden change in tone with a laugh. He notices it, but doesn't question you. Of course, the ever sweet and understanding Namjoon. You continue, though, "But I feel like it's the truth. I mean, I am pretty inexperienced," you avert your eyes from his gaze before speaking more, "College was pretty bland for me. And I know sexual experiences don't dictate one's life, it's just my own–" you cringe before saying that word, "desire to explore more."

You are again met with silence, but this time it was expected. He is not your best friend for you to rant to him about your sexual experiences– or lack thereof. You mindlessly breath him in as his hold around your shoulders never loosens.

This was a bad idea, you think now. How are you supposed to go on with your day knowing the man in the room beside yours knows how you struggle with your exploring your sexuality. You almost think of finding a new apartment to move into before you hear his voice, soft and unsure, but still audible and there.

"I can help."

Did you, did you hear him right?

"Huh?"

He removes his hand from your shoulder and turns to face you completely, and you turn to him too, moving on autopilot.

"I said, I can help you. I have a little bit of experience and I can help you explore your needs." he explains with a light shrug, as if offering you to help you buy the grocery.

It's not that simple, you wanna shout at him. But the words get stuck in your throat as you think more about it. Namjoon offering to help you? Help you with literal sex endeavours? This hot tall guy who everyone has a crush on, or may you say would like to be crushed by is offering you this? Be real now, you'd be a fool to deny it.

But another, rational part of your brain (hardly awake and coherent) wonders if it would be a good idea for you both as roommates. Won't it affect your relationship? As friends? Your lips form a pout and you wonder out loud a simple,

"How?"

Namjoon seems to mull over your question, a few seconds of stillness passing by between you too. You aren't actually thinking much, just waiting (a little too eagerly) for his reply, when a slightly sheepish look crosses his features and he suggests,

"Well, for starters, do you have any toys?"

------------

taglist in rb's! next part will be up the same time next week!

feedbacks, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated so please!! 🤍

© sugarwithtea 2023. do not repost.

#namjoon smut #rm smut #namjoon #rm #knj #kim namjoon #bts #bts smut #namjoon x reader #btswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bangtantheatrenet #k labels #kflixnet #bangtanbathhouse #tmp swt #bts x reader #kim namjoon smut #micdropnet

[cowboylikeyoongi]

» jimin ✦ he looks up grinning like a devil.

cr. bangtantv

#park jimin #jimin #btshoneyhive #micdropnet #dailybts #userbangtan #btsedit #bts gif #bts jimin #jimin gif #mine ♡ #freyaslove #usersky #userkelli #annietrack #heyginkgo #userdinnerthing #useremmeline #userjeonjcngkook #i got a new sharpening process y'all #that green jacket has a grip on my mind #i'm at it again with the tswift lyrics as captions #anyway cruel summer is so jimin-coded i said what i said

[raplinesmoon]

원샷! (One-Shot!): Series Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader (feat. Seokjin)

Genres: drabble series, nsfw, crack, fluff, smut, tiny bit of angst, medical au, idiots-to-lovers

Tags/Warnings (to be updated as series moves along): cynical Yoongi, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, 20,000 different ways to say sperm, unhinged behaviour from OC and Yoongi, probably HIPAA non-compliance, intoxication, marijuana use, eventual smut

Summary: Yoongi escapes the friend zone in the most unexpected way ever conceived (based on the movie, The Switch).

a/n: Let me know if you’d like to be tagged when I update!

1. 원샷! (One-shot!)

Yoongi’s friendship with you is the one bright spot in his life. So when you tell him you’re ready to have a baby, he thinks this will finally be his shot to take your friendship to the next level. Cue a few shots of soju, and one insemination party, and Yoongi suddenly has a huge problem on his hands.

1.5. Half The Man

As your pregnancy progresses, Yoongi continues to wrestle with his long-standing feelings, culminating in an argument that has you making an unexpected move.

2. Take Two

Yoongi hasn't seen you for a long time, so when you invite him to dinner, he's surprised by the guest who tags along.

3. Three's A Crowd

After taking on an unexpected baby-sitting gig, Yoongi finds himself warming up to his new set of responsibilities.

4. How I Met Four Mother

A drunken night out has an unpredictable ending where Yoongi decides he can no longer hold back.

5. Five and Let Die

Months pass, and Yoongi finds himself contemplating if the consequences of the decision he made years ago were worth it.

#bts #micdropnet #kvanity #bangtanbathhouse #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fics #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts smut #yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #suga x reader #suga x you #yoongi fluff #suga fluff #yoongi imagine #suga imagine #yoongi fic #suga fic #yoongi imagines #yoongi fics